the rain in spain falls mainly in andalucia.

the rain here is paralyzing. i say this as a girl who has lived in seattle for years, where the rain means nothing. it doesn't stop your plans, it doesn't get in the way, sure you might be a little wet but that's totally normal. the rain here in andalucia seems to be the antithesis of the rain in seattle-- when it rains, nothing can be accomplished. the city shuts down. people freak out. everybody races home to put their jammies on and call it a day, no matter what time it is. the funny thing is, i have absolutely fallen into this state of mind too. "i know we had a date.... but it was raining." "i can't go on monday, i think it's supposed to rain." "you're what? you can't be, it's raining!" or "i was really excited to go out and see your concert.... but then it started raining." the exact excuse of last night.

and so when it rains and storms and the winds start-a-blowin. you go home. you put your jammies on, they're flannel and pink with a teddy bear on the breast. you put your slippers on, worn from generations of exchange students. you plop yourself on the couch. your legs go under the table, where there is a space heater (actually, the only heater in all of the frigid house).  you laugh with your host mom. and you go to bed with the sound of water dancing around you. because the rain here is paralyzing.   

maybe some turkey.

in the past it was always a riot. an absolute riot. the farm. thirty-eight people in the shack with only one bed. man, we'd drink ourselves silly. and shoot guns out into the woods (cross your fingers on the fate of those bullets). there were only two burners in that kitchen (the hyperbole may be more prominent in my mind, there may have been four burners, alright). for thirty eight people? not a prob. there was only a brown-out once. uncle david pulls out his harpsichord-- then shit gets crazy. once everyone gets nice and tipsy we go deer spotting. pile in the back of the pick-up-truck and look for deer. chase them? was that the goal? who knows. and when you stuff yourself, when you are absolutely full past the state of being full we gather around and sing "alice's restaurant." man, in the past it was a riot.

then there were the years that the farm didn't happen. those years were always great, too. at home, family over, eat and eat and eat. we'd never watch football, just not that into it. just sit around and laze around. always great.

and then there were the years on the west coast. the one up in bellingham with ex-amantes and drums and guitars and apples-to-apples. and the other one with multiple meals in a day with roommates and families. 

and then there was last year. the one where we sat by the fire all night with glasses of red-wine. and we laughed and laughed and laughed ourselves silly, like we always do. and we rented a movie on the television, like we never do. 

this thanksgiving will be different. we'll celebrate in a bar. near an ancient cathedral. on the coast. erin and emily and i will bring broccoli with bacon and raisins and sunflower seeds. we'll bake sweet potatoes with caramelized pecans.  we'll be the only ones in the city with a turkey coma. we'll toast and laugh and soak up the memories that we've made and the memories of this day in our past. then we'll dance the night away. 

of course it will be different. but different always means great. 

happy thanksgiving. 

 

i mean it.

while keeping in contact does not seem to be my forte, it certainly does not diminish 

       --how much i love you 

                 and think of you  

                         and miss you.  

la sagrada familia. la familia es sagrada.

the trinity.

the life. 

its the holy trinity of traveling: the southwest northeast southeast triangle. 

last weekend, sevilla.

where we spontaneously hopped a bus! it was all in the name of a "lets toast to obama!" party that i had found on the internet. and as with most things found on the internet (hotels, clothes, apartments, wives), it ended up being a little different than we imagined. a small crowd of fifty-somethings in a quiet bar; just different than what we had geared up for. but to have an excuse to hop a bus and go to sevilla? that was a beautiful thing. we stayed with a local friend and botellóned with the pros. in one bar, we were served free delights of something the bar tender had made himself. in one street, you can get chocolate covered churros at any hour of the night. we drank starbucks (what? a real cup of coffee exists in spain? i wasn't convinced until last weekend) and spent our days with men who own horses and dogs and homes in the country and ride super-bikes. who finally have our sense of humor. who are the kindest souls i've spent time with. who open their doors and their lives and their cars to hang out with some young americans. man. sevilla? you and your guadalquivir really impressed me, you did. and now the trinity continues.

this weekend, barcelona.

next weekend, granada.

all is well. <3

ogana!

the entire world is celebrating. honestly.