[continued from previous entry]
A long morning of breakfast, espresso, and a lovely tortilla española thrown together by C. in an attempt to show me how to do it. "Fácil," she kept saying. "¡Facilísimo!" Maybe to her. There were enough steps in the process that it didn't seem quite so easy to me, especially the part where it gets turned over. (Didn't go so well for C., and while the product may not have been as pretty as a cookbook photo, it was tasty enough that I essentially inhaled my portion.)
They packed up, we made the trip into Montpelier in two cars, slouched into the town's funkiest café for an infusion of iced coffee -- the only kind of American joe I can honestly say I go for (a decent glass/cup of which I have yet to find in Madrid). Conversation around a small round table near a window (C. having trouble drinking her iced c. without the ice making it slop of the glass on her blouse every time she tried to raise it to her mouth to sip), they went upstairs to check out the eccentric political/revolutionary bookstore, they returned for a stop in the loo, then they hit the road, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the last bits of a muffin.
Since then: trying to gear gradually up re: work going through the accumulated dreck in the house. Stunned, at times overwhelmed at the quantity of STUFF I'm faced with, wondering how in hell it all got here, especially considering I've been mostly out of the country since 2000. Yesterday, finally, began making inroads into a room at the far end of the house, me having finally cooked up what I hope will be an orderly, manageable approach to this process. Aiming for a yard sale two Saturdays from now, realizing as I work that two yard sales may be in order.
Something I like about my existence in Madrid: it's relatively possession-free, feeling light and unencumbered compared with my life here. Light and unencumbered: a fine way to do life. Am sincerely tired of so much STUFF, part of the legacy of growing up in the home of a professional packrat. (The process of clearing out the rents' house in Florida after they'd both dropped off the twig -- first him, then a few short years later her -- was an eye-opener. The parental units taught me far more about how I don't want to live than they did about how to live, a kind of negative role-modeling -- and I swear this is an irony-free comment -- I am grateful for.)
Anyway.
Seen recently in Montpelier, the following bumper sticker:
Buckle up! It makes it easier for the aliens to suck you out of your car.
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Dusk, July, northern Vermont:
España, te echo de menos
rws 1:50 PM [+]
Comments:
What a great summer to be in Vermont! Rain, thunder, heat, some cold...it's the best of all weather worlds.
As for the ghost - get them to do the yard work, or at least the dishes. ;)
As for the ghost - get them to do the yard work, or at least the dishes. ;)
I'm pretty sure the bumper sticker that you saw was on my car! I live in Montpelier, and I have that sticker. Cool!
kristin: if i start trying to put the ghost to work, it would undoubtedly demand wages, benefits, etc. i just need a 3-D slave or two. :)
tubachick: and has buckling up prevented any abduction attempts (extraterrestrial or otherwise)? just wondering. :)
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tubachick: and has buckling up prevented any abduction attempts (extraterrestrial or otherwise)? just wondering. :)