Goin' to Barcelona in My Mind

The only cure for my February slump is a trip, so I'm going' to Barcelona in my mind.

By this time of winter I slide into a malaise.  It's like all five senses are muted. Music sounds like muzak, all the colors have faded to dull brown, wool sweaters have begun to scratch, everything smells stale, and all food tastes bland. 

Faster than the Concorde my memory can take me back to October in sunny Spain.

Our first dinner was in a narrow, modern tapas bar named Mas Q Menos. The walls were paneled with blond wood.  At the front entry a ceiling to floor display of red and white wines filled the wooden Xs. The manager said the bottles weren't really wine because it would make theft too tempting. He added he didn't actually know what was inside them, but he hoped it was something mildly poisonous.

I enjoyed of one their smooth, fruity white wines named Afortunado (lucky, fortunate.) My online search shows that it is inexpensive, and readily available in, desafortunadamente, England. Drat. Can't even uncork a bottle and pretend I'm there.

Maybe they tweeted each other. They barely spoke. 

Just as one tapa leads to another, my recollection of delicious meals leads me to the Velodrome restaurant. It was in a century old building with a pressed tin ceiling and wide plank wooden floors. 

pretty tiled rest room

On Friday night every table was full--inside, outside on the sidewalk under little white lights, and in the second floor loft. Folks crowded the long dark wooden bar. Facing the door we watched groups of people enter and greet each other with the Spanish two-cheek  kiss. 

A dapper gentleman, who appeared to be eighty something shuffled in.  He wore a tweed jacket over a ruffled shirt, shoes polished and trousers pleated. 


He wandered past the bar crowd to the large, green felt-covered pool table under the loft. With my back to him I could still picture what was going on. The balls rattled in the rack. The cue whacked a ball, it trundled across the table, and he hit it again. Then it thudded to the floor and rolled slowly, creating the dull sound of wood upon wood. With a quiet word one of the young waiters went to find it for him. I don't think the pool "shark" could bend over that far, and he probably couldn't see very well either. 

tempura asparagus

I think a lingering meal of little bites, listening to muted chatter I can't understand, would be just the ticket to cure the doldrums.

What's your favorite get-away?  

Are Your Friendships Fading or Flourishing?

Celebrating Valentine's Day on Sunday I dined with my husband and sent $5.00 bills origamied into hearts to the grandkids. 

Now I wish I'd celebrated my close friendships, too. 

During my school age years, our family made four state to state moves. My elementary school friends are dim memories. Those from high school are only photos in the yearbook. And I only have email addresses for two college buddies. 

Once I married and settled in one place I tried to hang onto every friendship like a leech. Undoubtedly I misread clues and tried to stay tethered past the time I should have cut the line.  Oh, I must have been so annoying.  

Eventually I understood that friendships fade and I've learned to read the signals. When a gal pal can't find time for even an occasional social event, I think twice before making contact again.  I only keep people on my Christmas card list for a couple of years before I eliminate the ones who don't reciprocate. When my maybe-friend only sends forwarded emails, I figure I'm not worth her time. 

Electronics have not helped foster healthy friendships. Facebook helps me know where you are and what you're doing, but doesn't really invite me in. Twitter's like eating one bite of pie and calling it dessert.  I feel like a piece of furniture when I'm talking to someone who answers their phone and drops me like a hot potato.

My time for making and fostering rich friendships is much shorter than it was twenty years ago. Maybe that's why I am so reluctant to admit kinship has withered on the vine.

So I'm that much more thankful for good friendships. They flourish because we're mutually mindful. I only miss my monthly dinner out with the book club if I'm infectious or feverish. We have a standing date for Wednesday lunch. And occasionally I even drop in on one.

I don't hear from far flung soul sisters frequently, but I know if Judy from Oregon comes within a hundred miles, she'll try to to rendezvous. And we'll pick up where we left off two years ago. 

You can't make or keep a friend without investing time, and both blessings are more and more precious as each day goes by.  

Thomas Edison and the $100.00 socks

Popular wisdom tells us that trying, failing, and trying again eventually lead to success. 

I've tried and failed plenty, but each failure sent me looking for something easier to master. Therefore I've had more failure than success.

Take knitting, for instance. Mother introduced me to knitting when I was 8. Like most beginners, my first dishrag square was so tight you couldn't get the needle in to make a new stitch. It was more like a hot pad. Good thing my little sister took the needles out and I had to start over. 

My first sweater had arms that hung to my knees.  I redid them and took a twenty year break.

When I took up the needles and yarn again I decided to go small--socks. I reasoned they would be a portable project through graduate school and faculty meetings, easy to carry on an airplane.

I signed up for "Fun Footwear, Part I."  It cost $40.00 plus about $20.00 in yarn. I bought a lot of colors because I imagined them as Christmas gifts. 

I didn't quite get the hang of it.  In fact, I flunked. My sizing, what knitters call gauge, was off. The first sock was way too big. And turning tube to create the heel was tricky. Mine was full of holes that weren't supposed to be there.

Still it was a nice change of pace from lesson planning and grading assignments.

I repeated "Fun" Part I for another $40.00. My sock progressed all the way to the ribbing at the top this time, but gaped where they were supposed to be snug. They were lumpy inside and out.

I laughed about my $100.00 socks and always thought someday I'd get it right. But unlike Edison, I gave up and sock-making gave way to something less challenging. Maybe that was when I tried to teach myself French.

Today I found the *overpriced , oversized, socks. After snapping this photo I tossed them in the trash.

I'm glad Edison didn't give up and figured out how to deliver electricity to factories and homes. Otherwise I would be wearing those handmade socks.

Do you have a failure to success story to share? 



*$151.32 in today's currency

Settled in like Hens on a Nest

In our sixties we've settled into evenings at home like hens on our nests.  We go to movie matinees. Unlike most of America, we rarely eat out, and prefer late lunches and summer trips into the wine country. Our twisty roads at night seem scarier than they used to.

So it was a big deal for us to have a date night on a Saturday night. And it reminded us of why we think living here is wonderful.

We had tickets to hear a favorite Bluegrass band, Balsam Range, play at the old Earle Theater in downtown Mt. Airy, NC. We were in the tenth row, close enough to see their faces! If we still lived in Colorado we'd have to brave huge crowds to hear them play.  

The only crowding in Mt. Airy that night was at the local restaurants.  Where did all those folks come from? We must have one of the highest restaurant per capita ratios in the country, I swannee. 


After our early supper, we ran over to the hardware giant. In and out in a flash (because everybody was still supping) the Girl Scouts from Troop 02743 had a table and cookies! Back in my day, the troops only had three digit numbers. These cuties stamped their feet in the chilly weather and tempted customers as we left the store. I was gleeful that I had cash in my wallet for a change. Love those Thin Mints. 

Once we got to the theater we needed to use the facilities. But those are always crowded at the Earle .We dashed out and down the block to the heated public restrooms on Main Street. What a great idea. Mt. Airy has a fair amount of tourists so they'd planned for them.  Like the parking. The public lot half a block away is free, and we could be on the road without a traffic jam.

The town still had the snow flake lights hanging on posts, and the holidays didn't seem long gone. 

We crept home safely and substantially below the speed limit. This is a great place for us older-than-we-used-to-be folks to live and enjoy life. We'll have to do it again, real soon.

How much enticement do you need to move out of your routine? 

Not Complaining

Compared to New Yorkers I have nothing to complain about. I've been snowed in for five days, but at least our snow will melt by February and my roof didn't collapse.

We're still well stocked, could get by without milk for a couple more days.

And it's been very productive because I roped Bill into some chores he prefers to excuse his way out of.

All of the spilled flour, spices, and crumbs are cleaned out of the kitchen drawers--all twenty of 'em. 

Upstairs, we pawed through the dressers and winnowed out socks with stretched tops, summer shorts two sizes too big (him) or one size too small (me.) And we wrestled over his flimsy washed to death, torn up T-shirts until I got them into the trash bag. 

I saved the job we both hate most for today. We went freezer diving. 

The problem is that my small chest freezer needs compartments! We'd started with bags to separate the fruit from the vegetables as we preserved last year's harvest. But digging around for the beets you can't see but you KNOW are in there really messes with the system. 

I put on my stretch knit gloves and we formed a two man relay from the freezer to the counter. Bill kept grumbling that we never should have bought a freezer. Three years ago he groused that we should buy one! 

It wasn't so bad. We sorted and repacked, taking mental inventory as we went. 

I made a slushy with left-over lemon popsicles. I'll eat scallops tonight.

He was happy that we found two last bags of beets and greens. I'm happy that we have plenty of fruit to last until the May strawberries come in.  I have more tomatoes, tomato-based broth, and salsa than I can use up before the end of next summer. 

It helped me plan the garden.  I'll tell my friend to grow more beets. I'll plant fewer tomatoes. 

Why aren't you complaining? Be the first to comment below (just click on the no comment link, it will take you to the comment box.) 

This Little Piggy Has a Paradigm Shift

My grandson pointed his bare foot at me and demanded "This Little Piggy."

So I reached out and took his smooth little heel in my left hand, and wiggled his big toe between my fingers. I began the rhyme but ran out of rhyme before I ran out of toes. He has six on each foot!

count the toes

So we started over and improvised. "This little piggy went to market. This little piggy stayed home. This little piggy ate peanut butter and jelly..." and I asked him for suggestions.

Each time through we changed favorite foods. "This little piggy went to market...stayed home...ate ice cream, ate yogurt, ate..."

"Cookie!" he added.

"This little piggy ate cookies. This little piggy cried 'Wee,wee,wee' all the way home."

I wonder why had I never changed the chant before?  None of my grandkids could relate to roast beef. 

Bo and I enjoyed it much more this way.

While in the Colorado mountains we saw a herd of deer. They nibbled the bushes just a few feet away from us, although on the other side of the window. "Look, Bo!" we urged. He looked, but he was speechless.

There were so many, we were all riveted.  As they wandered around the house we traipsed from window to window. they sprang straight up into the air, and tussled antler to antler.

After several minutes Bo surprised us with a unique thought.  "Where's Santa?"

None of us had wondered that!

One friend shared that after a tragic death of a young woman in the family, the grandchildren said they bet the girl's father was glad she was with him in heaven for Christmas.

I think that's one important thing children do for us--give us a new lens that transforms what's familiar.

So if you don't have grandkids, or they live far away, or they're all grown up, or think they are, go find a young child to shake up your routine thoughts.



Will you share one of your grandchild's mind benders?

Flamenco, Restrained Passion

"Mom" my daughter said, "you need to exercise more. You walk like an old lady."

I walk like an old lady?!  Was that because I only walked 3 miles on a snowy road and the rest of the family continued into the woods? Or because I'm stiff and totter a bit when I first get out of bed? 

If I were going to pick up a new exercise regime, I think it might be flamenco dancing.  

1) Flamenco burns calories, works important muscle groups, and
2) even older gals get to dance with the cute young guys.  

in Granada, Spain

3) The costumes are a lot more fun than spandex and draw the eye away from mid-body lumps. The long skirt would hide my varicose veins.  Low heeled shoes with a strap are safe for any age.

4) You don't have to compare stats with anybody, for example miles walked or your time for the 10K.  Who's going to ask how many times your castanets clicked per minute?

5) Of course, you'll have to learn to play castanets, which are made from and named after, chestnuts. 

6) It's an art form of restrained passion--dark glances over the shoulder, the disdainful tilt of the chin, or arms extended in invitation to the beloved. That's more excitement than a brisk walk any day.

7) Complex hand clapping and flourishes of a fluid, fringed shawl add more  drama, and a few more micro-calories burned.

So when Susanna asks how my exercise program is coming, I'll tell her I'm committed to being a flamenco dancer. As soon as my lessons begin in Spain.

Do you have a fantasy exercise program? Do tell.