Sunday

It's Sunday morning, Paul Simon sounding on the radio, flies buzzing about in the sunshine, Flai asleep in his cave under the fig tree, oatmeal granola bars baking in the oven. I haven't written in a long time here, but this morning struck me as a good enough time as any to return.

I don't think I've even written about where we are now. Life has taken another turn in the last few months, adding to what seems like an endless curvy road of the past couple years. Remember that winter solstice party with the vegetarian group in December? Well, one of the members gave us a call a month later to offer us a caretaking job with his family's house. We jumped. And now we're here. Just south of Barcelona, snuggled up against the mountain looking out at the sea.

The first two months have flown by. Land cleaned and cleared, raised garden rows dug, chicken coop built and weaved, greenhouse frames assembled, escaped dogs found, baby chicks grown, house repaired, mountains wandered, bicycles moved.

From no leaves, to almond and then cherry and plum blossoms. Next came the leaf out. Now the figs are just waking up. The buds that looked like they would be closed forever finally burst open. Even the persimmons are starting to wear their coat of green. The olives who have foliage all year round are beginning to bloom - the promise of olives are in sight!

The seeds we planted inside and ferried out into the sunlight every morning and snuggled back in the house at night have all been planted in the Earth. Hard compact soil that suggests we should be potters rather than gardeners. And yet, with a few adventures to the horse farm near by and mining for "gemstones" under the chicken roost hopefully it will be enough natural fertilizer for something to grow. It's quite a practice of faith, this gardening business. Trusting the seed will germinate even though you can't see it. Anxiously hoping the transplants won't wither and die but instead take firm root and take off with reckless abandon. In the beginning it always seems as though we are throwing ourselves into the realm of sure disappointment only to be met with the steady magical science that the plants always grow despite the anxious worries. Some don't, but most do, enough to want to plant again the next year anyway.

Well, the sun is high in the sky and I have this lovely dog Flai cuddled by my side with his pleading face to take him for an adventure somewhere. Time to go....or otherwise he'll find somewhere to escape and I'll spend the next two hours looking for him.

Grapes to Bales - Happy New Year

We rang in the new year in Spanish fashion - eating 12 grapes as the clock dings (one each second for the last 12 seconds of the year). Sounds easy and delicious, if you are thinking of seedless grapes. Normally seedless any fruit seems just plain wrong to me. Breed something to not produce just doesn't make sense naturally speaking. But when you pop them in your mouth by the second seedless starts sounding really good. Here they use the good old fashioned natural grapes; seeds and all. So the last seconds become quite an obstacle course for the teeth and tongue. I sat ready, grapes in hand and anticipating mastering this art much better than last year. Only problem, when the first bell rang to eat the first grape I couldn't get my little baggie open. 5 seconds in I finally pried it open and just started chomping- seeds and all. Not exactly delicious, but I felt relieved that I finished on time. I wouldn't want any bad grape luck after all. 

The next day we packed up the van again (we had been staying with family) and hit the road to Avila, a town on the other side of the mountains outside Madrid. We were off to a workshop to learn how to build a house of strawbales. We had visited once before as volunteers and I was anxious to go back. The place is a large tract of land owned within which different families own their own small parcels. As we curved the mountain road up to the 'land of the pines' the scatterings of yurts and teepees, bale houses and container homes popped into view.

We arrived late although much more punctual than the previous time. The month before on our way to volunteer, the Guardia Civil (police) stopped us. They saw our van (back then she was still quite "particular") and thought we were robbers. Often times thieves go to the small towns throughout Spain and rob the country homes, usually driving run down crappy vans. They seemed a bit bummed when we opened the back doors and they didn't find any contraband.

Anyway, so we arrive. The dogs welcoming us with their curious barks and leading us down the path to the workshop. The next six days was a mix of technical details taught inside (in a strawbale building) and then hands on practice. In short- I learned how to build a 30square meter house from choosing location with compass, digging and building a foundation, to mounting the walls, constructing the post and beam structure, green roof designs and then the smaller details of making artisan windows, shelves and benches. I've never used so much of my high school math classes! Cosign, sign, diagonals, angles, wow! I had so much fun I even had brief flashes of how cool it would be to be a math teacher and teach by building a house with my students! I felt exsercised from my toes to my brain and everything in between.

Then there were the workshops about self-sufficiency and renewable energies. Hot water heaters, solar panels, bicycle powered battery chargers, bicycle powered washing machines, trombe walls, cars running on veggie oil (which thanks to Jota's undoubting dedication La Patata runs on veggie oil too) and then there was the solar stoves and non-electric/non-gas water pump and homemade jacuzzi's heated by the sun. Wow. So awesome to see so many ideas really being used in every day life.

We woke up to ice inside the van which gave me more lessons in physics/natural science. We had insulated the walls with cork (a non toxic abundant insulator here) and the ceiling with yoga mats but here in the cold of this place it wasn't enough. The whole van was dry, except the screws in the ceiling. I figure the metal screws transmitted the cold from the metal beams so while we were sleeping the warm air of an exhale touched the cold of the screw and voila - condensation. And mix that with super super cold weather and well, you get ice.

At night some brought instruments or their singing voices and serenaded us all. The last night I told a story with wool puppets- the first time in a long time. I enjoyed it so much.

We stayed an extra day to help dig and level a foundation for a pool. When it's finished they'll use it to collect, filter and store water for the garden.

Driving away I felt happy and fulfilled and so empowered after building something so cool.I guess I thought it would be something I couldn't ever do or would never have the skills for. Only six days and I feel as though it's in my reach, touchable, obtainable. Sounds cliche but really, after cutting a beam with a hand saw and drilling bolts with an electric screw driver, measuring angles and designing windows I felt every ounce of woman power. I know female carpenters but I didn't realize before that I had a subconcious idea about roles and gender and where I fit into that. The woman in me never thought there was a carpenter in there. And then now here I am on the other side of this six days and well I can see the carpenter.   

Next stop Galicia to visit friends and collect our bicycles. Two weeks more until I fly home!

Madrid Me Mata

And we're back in Madrid. Never have I had such mixed emotions about a place. I found a post card once while meandering the back streets of the center of the city and it summed up my relationship with Madrid in one catchy phrase.  "Madrid, Me Mata" it said, alongside a sketch of a pretty women with a black mysterious, somewhat piratey eye patch.  In English the translation is; Madrid, it kills me.

It's sort of like this:

 For months I rode my bike through the city everyday, it was my only and favorite transportation. Whizzing through the traffic in the hot sun or that freezing cold; it didn't matter, I loved every minute of it. My blood pumped freedom, thrill, excitement. There's nothing like rediscovering the bicycle after a stint of not having transportation. How much faster than walking, how much less stressful than driving! And then I started noticing the ache in my throat every evening. Or that somehow breathing became painful, my nose almost reeling at the thought of having to draw in air. That along with the combination of either nosebleeds or black snot and I realized for the first time in my own body the concept of traffic pollution.  Even after being in the countryside, each return to the center of the city causes the same body bio feedback message to my brain - avoid breathing!

There are the beautiful parks and yet I yearn for the kind of natural wild unruly growth that can never be designed by the hand of a landscaper.

A country in a real crisis and yet they have a rich King still, who takes public money.

The many markets and quantity of things to buy and then my empty wallet.

The picturesque apartment overlooking the river that's ours to live in if we gave all our waking hours over to working in a job market where there is no work available anyway.

The many lovely people to have thrilling conversations with if only I didn't mind all of their incessant chain smoking. 

Madrid will dazzle you with her sparkling array of Christmas lights, keep you busy in amazing museums and exhibits for years, overwhelm your tastebuds with tapas, gazpacho, jamon, tortillas and paellas, thrill you with soccer games,and seduce you with the notion that afternoon naps are built into the schedule of society.

It's where half our family is. My first experience in city living. The place that taught me Spanish. The home of mi companero. And how I try so hard to love her. And yet, I synchronize most with a postcard that says, "Madrid, me mata." But we are here now and I try again to let the charms of this place flood my life. It's good practice for me and my illness of perfectionism. Not everything is perfect. Life is not a game of comparing. Just see what's there and take it for what it is, not what it could be if only....

The most unexpected Winter Solstice, ever.

After writing the last post I packed up my computer and left the library, jumped in the van and we started driving. We had been invited to a winter solstice celebration in the next province and we were running late. Friday hit me hard, like it did the nation and the world. There are some tragedies that crawl into every nook and cranny of my being, haunting me with thoughts and images and what-ifs. And then all the yoga classes and meditation sessions and Buddha books invade my mind too, trying to teeter me over to the side of not loosing hope and reminding me that the only thing I can and should do is to send out my love and blessings and strength to those families that are in the midst of this nightmare.

And so we were on our way to this party, me, certainly not in a party mood. I dreaded having to put on a happy cheerful face to hide what was really twirling and swirling inside. And I dreaded even more the opinions I was sure would come (while traveling you learn that everyone, everyone always has an opinion about the United States, and often it's not a pleasant one.) In this case I was imagining being baraded with advice on how to fix our gun policy and having to take it as if I'm actually the person that creates the gun policy, or listen to comments about our healthcare system, or foreign policy, etc.  Or even worse, the question that makes me reel the most - "what's happening with you people over there, anyway?" Most of the time I try to take it all in stride. Afterall I am a US citizen (a proud one because I know so many good things too), it is my country, and yes, we've got a lot of issues; many of which affect the rest of the world. But this Friday, I just didn't want to hear it.

So we finally arrive over an hour late after getting lost once, missing a turn off and somehow getting on a toll road instead of the free road. The good part was the scenery was breathtaking. Through the mountains of pine and cork with patches of silvery aspen trees and little villas nested into the mountain sides. I tried to let my mind wander there for a while. In the beauty and peace and calm of the country. There is a quote out there somewhere and I can't remember it exactly, but it is something to the effect of "I am in every leaf, every flower, every blade of grass...." And as I watched the trees sway in the breeze images of smiling children came flooding over me.

We parked in the drive, I plastered a smile to my face and we ambled up the path to the house. And low and behold we were greeted first by a puppy. So the seconds before meeting our host, the puppy worked a little magic and somehow transformed my plastered smile into a genuine one.

The house was huge. An old estate with a kitchen so massive it even had one of those big stone hearths that you can practically stand in. The estate is owned by a cooperative, a group of vegetarians that made an organization and created this space for workshops and retreats, summer camps and family gatherings.  One of our hosts, the cook let us know the kitchen was her kingdom so we couldn't help cook, but we could sit at the table and chat and keep her company. Turns out that we weren't late at all. In fact we were about an hour early.

So a while later another few people came. They entered the kitchen, plopped down some bags and scrolls of paper on the table and after the introductory kisses and name exchange they put us to work. We were instructed to make two giant pictures of mountain scenary to be the backdrop of a marionnette performance. Meanwhile the two other ladies sat down on the other side of the table and started making yarn pom-poms. Could this be real? Mind you that Jota and I had never met these people before. We knew almost nothing about them. They were strangers that had invited us to their celebration after getting their contact info from our local librarian. We had no idea what to expect - what their rendition of a solstice party would be. So my surprise, shocked and relieved self settled into a chair, crayon in hand and started drawing. How could they have known this was exactly what I needed? How could they have known when I hadn't even know what I needed?

So a few hours passed. Carmen cooking away in the kitchen, a few others making a giant fire in that giant hearth, Grandma making pom-poms, the children and teenagers making the puppets and Jota and I along with a trickle of other adults scribbling away at our community picture. No questions, no politics. Just laughing, innocense, open hearts and a joyous mood.

We ate dinner together- salad, vegetable lasagna and broccoli soup with homemade bread. I felt restored in the goodness of the world, the goodness of strangers. We enjoyed sparkling cider (it's a no alcohol, no smoking place!) and dessert and then started our marionnette performance.

Like I said before, I didn't know what to expect of this evening.  So when everyone started climbing the stairs inviting us along, I was a bit nervous. Upstairs? What's up there? What kind of entertainment will this be anyway?  So I followed Grandma up the stairs carrying my doubt with me, but my curiosity too.  When we all settled onto cushions on the floor in a circle I looked around and saw a family, a community. At their gatherings this group always brings self-entertainment. As in- people bring a story, song, instrument, skit, comedic act, something to share with the group, something to entertain, make people smile, make people feel welcome and connected. I looked around in anxious anticipation for clues as to what this "entertainment" would be. A couple started off with telling a story and then hitting the play button on the cd player. You know what came out booming? Julia Andrews and "A Few of My Favorite Things." Really? Could this actually be happening, I thought. And so sing-alongs to the  Sound of Music ensued along with a group spontaneous marionnette performance, goofy games, a few jokes and a few stories. It was "child-ish", silly, fun  and something so perfect I couldn't have thought of any better medicine to restore my faith in humanity. I sang and danced and smiled and laughed with all those children and teachers alive in my heart. Sometimes the world surprises me in ways I wished it didn't. But then again, sometimes it surprises me in other ways too.

(pictures to come, the internet is too slow here to post them now...)

only love

I had a list of things I wanted to write about in my blog. The organic farming workshop, the bicycle edition, the hidden basket workshop, the tiny ancient villages nestled into the mountains and glowing with Christmas lights, the secret to finding land here, the winter solstice celebration we were invited to by our librarian.

And then I read the news. And now the tears are flowing and my heart is breaking. And so I will have to save those stories for another day. My energy is elsewhere. It's certainly not in writing today.

Wishing I could embrace you all, but a simple written "I love you", will have to do. I'm not even sure who is reading this blog - but it doesn't matter. I love you all. This world needs it. It doesn't matter who you are. For our children's sake, I love you all.

Those teachers in my life whether I met you as a small child or as a fellow teacher, know that you are brave, you've made such a difference in my life and I am eternally grateful. To the parents I wish you all the healing in the world and as much unconditional love as you share with your little ones everyday. And to the children, I wish that you have no fear, I wish you childhood, I wish you joy, I wish you life. If I could fit you all on my lap in a tight hug and read you a comforting story I would, for now I'll just have to hold you all in my heart as that's the only place that will fit everyone.