Life: Idiotropic

Last night at 2am, I awoke with two little girls in my bed and what sounded like banging on the side of the house. I sat up, listened. The sound was close. I imagined someone in the house, someone breaking in, my other two girls downstairs. A moment of panic followed by slight bravado. Deep breath. I need to investigate. As I stood up something caught my eye at the window. I looked again and began to breath. Fireworks. Could that banging really be fireworks? A phenomenal show was going on in Valencia - may be the best show I've ever seen, and I was seeing it from my window 20 kilometers away. Elise and I sat on the bed and watched. She wandered to the bathroom. The housekeeper had left the window open. Ahh. Sound is the best magician.

But 2am??!??! Isn't that a bit late for a Wednesday night fireworks display on a non-holiday?

This is living in Spain.

You know the cidadas are loud when you can hear them through plugged ears and a foggy head. I hate this feeling. Seriously, enough of this and I might have to finally admit that may be quite possibly I might have allergies. Blech. Sounds like Darth Vador's in my head when I breath.

So, no news is no news which is quite frankly boring. Usually I can flip through my photos for some inspiration - quick reminders of my daily adventures. Sadly enough I only have recent photos of the zoo that has taken over my house - the dog and 5 squirming kittens who with the aid of some graphic photos we looked up on yahoo (have you ever searched for cat genitals online?), Tiara and I were able to successfully identify 3 boy kittens and 2 girls. Cuatro, our favorite, is a boy - to our great disappointment as we had all pretty much decided that only a girl kitten would do. Another boy in this house might throw us completely off kilter.

In other news, I did try a coffee shop and a new bakery in town. The tiny coffee shop is merely on long counter on one side and an equally long, narrow strip of small tables on the other. The littles tried various baked chocolate treats, Tiara had a farton - a long soft sweet breadstick with a small white icing stripe down the center - a hit with her, not too sweet, but the perfect balance to a strong cup of coffee. I had a chicken empanada which remarkably tasted exactly like chicken pot pie only without the peas. Tiara's coffee granizado was, well, not something we'd ever try again. Bitter, but not in a good way with a canned flavor, artificial and overly strong. My cappuccino looked beautiful with a mountain of white foam and a light dusting of cocoa, but was also extremely bitter, shocking like a shot of whisky, jolting. To me coffee should be full flavored, a little bitter, but smooth. I want to melt into my chair, sink into a state of zen, relaxation. Coffee is as relaxing as a glass of chilled wine, yet without the drowsy side effects. It's perfect for me. So, I need to try some alternatives to Spanish cappuccino. May be a Cafe con Leche is next because I will go back. The treats disappeared and the people who run it are delightful. The older lady tried to learn English from the girls and told me that I had too many, so which one will I give her. (in a nice, non creepy way) Really, so far everyone has been so kind here. That alone helps the transition immensely.

Spanish bakeries are nothing like the German ones. Nothing. The ambiance, the sounds, the smells. No fruit topped cakes. No quark kuchen. Spanish pastries are either too sweet, or almost not quite sweet enough. Tiara and I prefer the slightly sweet, but the littles barely touched the chocolate chip muffins I surprised the with for breakfast yesterday. Plenty of chocolate chips, but I'm guessing, not sweet enough for their sugar craving buds. The cakes look good, but different and I haven't found a place where I can order just a slice instead of the whole thing.

But the girls go to school in a few days now and I will have time to explore, to find the perfect cup of coffee, the perfect slice of cake. To explore these ancient villages, to take thousands of photos, to write, paint, and become infused with all things Spain. It's time.

Apparently it's legal here. This sign sits on the side of the road where the street widens and a few stripes indicate a temporary parking spot where you can pick up a hitchhiker or two. Our neighborhood is just a 5 minute drive up the road, and many of us head into town to run our errands. Makes sense to pick up a neighbor and head to town.

Bus stops are also on highways with little lanes on the right where the bus pulls in, picks up/drops off, then zooms away again. Many of these stops have little stairways where people can quickly and safely get to and from those stops. Still, it's odd for me to see that. I would feel weird sitting at a hot bus stop on the highway.

It's a bit odd to meet people here as predictably they ask where I live and then it follows that I point to the hill or refer to my street or neighborhood. Invariably they say, "Oh, I know someone who lives up there" to which I ask, "Did you know the Vito's?" And the answer is yes and then I tell them, "Well, then you know where I live AND my phone number." Makes things easier, I guess. But it's still a bit odd.

On one hand, it is easier. People know my house and my number. I don't have to bother writing it down. They probably know it better than I do.

But on the other hand, it feels strange. Almost as if my house isn't really all my house still. It has a life and a history that hasn't had time to fade before my history begins. In Germany my house was my house. Very few people knew the previous tenant and even fewer had actually been to the house. I marked it. I made it mine. It was (and still is to many friends), the Stahlbaum's house. Now I'm in a home with stories still fresh in people's minds from a family who just left a couple weeks ago and I have to fill it, live in it, and try to mark it making it mine now - our place for our stories.

It needs flowers. Art on the walls. Some smashing patio furniture. And... a party. Yep, one big wonderful party where everyone is invited to see our place again, but for the first time.

I think I just need one really big party. Either that or I litter the lawn with a few dozen pink flamingos. That would definitely make it unique.

Is it strange to have sincere envy for a fruit?

I tried to buy a watermelon here today - something I'd almost forgotten about in Germany. There they are so expensive. I remember the first time I bought a small watermelon there choking on the $7 price tag, but it was for a party and I carved it into a basket for a fruit salad, so it was sort of worth it. But that was the only watermelon that I bought while living there. 3.5 years in Germany - one watermelon.

Here, that sweet red fruit is the perfect antidote for these steamy hot days. I simply cannot think of anything better to eat. Peaches, oranges, mangos - all good, but not juicy enough. I love the burst of refreshment in each bite - it cools so well.

Still, it seems odd to me. Here, in this hot dusty place, that something so cool and fully packed with juice could not only survive, but thrive. My logic would say that this fruit - all fruit should be more raisin like growing here- after all, that's about how I feel after standing in the sun for 5 minutes. Have scientists studied this? How can I be more like a watermelon without their generous figure?

May be they suck the humidity out of the air, drinking in the wet that merely clings to us human folk. If so, then it seems the air around a watermelon patch would be drier, cooler, less suffocating. Ahhh... if that were true, I'd tear up my lawn and plant only watermelons. You'd find me on the hottest days, lying among those plump green bodies sipping granizado in the shade of a large leaf.

Until then - until scientists figure out how to turn me into a skinny watermelon, I'll just stick to refreshing myself with wedges, chunks, and balls of it. Which means that next time I go to the grocery store, I really must buy one with a sticker. Today's great pick had no sticker, no price, and I just didn't have it in me to run back and grab another.

Granizado at the club might just have to suffice. Yeah... it's a plan. 2 hours lounging with lemon and strawberry granizado (slushy, but better) and a good book. 2 hours that the littles are happy swimming and wearing themselves out. Nothing wrong with that.

I'm sitting under the air conditioner now, tired and achy at 12:42, listening to the crick crick of the rocking chair as Elise rocks and watching the antics of our spastic puppy chasing ice cubes this way and that along our tile floor. This is my life. For now.

School starts in less than two weeks and though I don't wish for time away from my girls, I do wish for some sort of imposed schedule. Moving in the summer isn't fun. The stifling heat and our "weekend husband" schedule has slowed down the progress of our move. And then I got sick and somehow injured my neck and shoulder, so I've lost days of hard work and it's getting to me. I am not a sitter. It frustrates me that I've been here for almost 2 months and have seen/done next to nothing.

Today Tiara and I were going to go to the Tomatina festival in Bunol - a city sized tomato fight. We had places reserved on a bus. But then between the dog and the kittens... what sitter can handle three young children, a puppy, and a litter of kittens for an entire day in a house that isn't quite "done" yet?

Yes, kittens. 6 days ago, amid the unpacking of boxes and the craziness, I spend half a day watching our adopted stray give birth to 5 squirming, surprisingly cute kittens. All the girls saw at least one kitten emerge in its sack - an education in and of itself. They all saw the placentas and found out the stark reality of what exactly the mother cat does with those red gooey tissue bags. It's amazing how little done we got on those first days. I tried, but each time I walked by Alex, I stopped to see her kittens, watch Cuatro who is the smallest and was the weakest. He didn't latch on as well. I worried. I stayed up until 3am that night, reading about runts and how to get a kitten to latch on. I rubbed it vigorously as advised and kept redirecting it to an available teat. It finally latched on and I sat and watched it until it was full and dropped off.

Kittens:  Uno at 0915, then 0925, 1158, 1221, 1400.

That afternoon we'd gone to the beach for a birthday party - a nice time to play, meet some more people, and relax a bit. A nice 'forced playtime' out of the house. Tiara was left alone with the kittens just hours old and her puppy who was full of energy. 30 minutes there and my cell phone rang with Tiara hysterical on the other end of it. A kitten had crawled out of the box (we have a different box now) and was in the middle of the floor crying for its mommy. Alex walked by, hungry, and ignored the kitten. Tiara was terrified to pick up the kitten - a) because she was scared she would 'break it' and b) because Alex was 'glaring at her' and she was worried that Alex would attack her. A learning experience for my girl.

Other than pets, errands, a embarrassing puking experience at the vet yesterday (meds on an empty stomach), and dealing with paper and that last few items in each room that just don't seem to have a home. Complete randomness. There is nothing else to report.

I love living here, but I really need to get settled and start exploring. I haven't seen or done enough. Haven't tried enough new foods. It will happen, but I'm getting itchy feet. 12 days until school starts.

One week camping:

Hide and seek in an empty house, lots of sandwiches and pre-made food, awkward standoffs between new puppy, new pregnant cat, and antique cat, short outings, dinner with friends, dinner out, storms, heat, humidity, air mattress living, finishing a great book. Felt the baby kittens kick for the first time. Cleaned cupboards, shelves, sorted through odds and ends left behind. Through a lot stuff away.

That was Week 1 in a nutshell.

And then the truck showed up. I checked the numbers. The same two trucks. Seals the same. Trucks the same. German movers - great ones.

A full day directing furniture and boxes into rooms I'd prelabeled with sticky notes. A full evening of unpacking. And days and days...

That's been it. Since last Wednesday, except for a grocery run, a dinner break with a friend, and this morning's trip to the airport to drop off Kirk, I've been buried in boxes, paper, and stuff. Lots of stuff. It's hot, I'm tired, and unpacking is losing its charm with each move. This used to be fun. It's not fun anymore.

I tried rubbing this brass lamp, but it's not working. Where's my Genie????

PHOTOS: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=137132&id=674507268&l=a745affdbe

Last night the thunder storms rolled in dumping heavy rains onto our lawn which, with the suns prodding, awoke clouds of translucent flying bugs that rose from the grass in steam like waves. Those bugs brought a swarm of starlings - some with orange bellies and some with white - doing a rhythmic dance darting and looping above the patch of lawn. Every few minutes Elise would run through the swarm to stir up more bugs and the starlings would renew their feast with vigor. We probably had 30 small birds here and watched them for at least a half hour moving to the edge of the sidewalk without disturbing them. They didn't even seem to notice us. Photos of these rapid swarms were near impossible to get, but this one should give you just a glimpse - it's a small part of a larger flock.

Thunderstorms graced us again tonight around 10 hitting the coast first before we saw any rain, and creating a spectacular light show with strobe light flashes illuminating the clouds over the Med. We watched from the balcony, me with my camera poised, so I was happy to catch a few lightening bolts with my camera.













Of course these storms followed just after the morning that my landlord had come over to water the "brown spots" in the lawn for hours. I don't see any brown spots. Love my landlord, but I think I'll do my own garden now unless he wants to pay my water bill.

Friday night and for the first time since arriving here in Spain, we're finally going out for dinner.

Restaurants don't open until 9, so we left just after and headed down to the beach. El Turko was closed as are many normal businesses here as shop owners take their vacations in August, but El Nazareth was open with just a couple patio tables full and the inside completely empty, so we sat down and waited. No reservation. But that was ok. We ordered a tapas plate and calamari to start, then Paella Valenciana for 5. 8 toasted breads sat on the tapas plate topped with chopped tomatoes and herbs, then fat strips of fish and good Spanish ham. Tuna, salmon, herring and a few others I couldn't identify, but it was all delicious as was the calamari.

So relaxing. At 9:30 it was light out and the restaurant was near empty. By 10, crowds started to trickle in and even the boardwalk along the sand's edge began to fill with people of all ages. A group of teens came into the restaurant to order ice cream to go, then leaned against the cement wall separating the sand from the pavement and talked for hours. Families with small children and babies sat talking and eating together while the kids ran to and from the table in groups laughing and playing. Kids made normal kid noise. Some brought scooters and rode up and down the sidewalk while the adults enjoyed the peace. Some children ran and played at the nearby playground. My three ran to the beach and poked their toes in the sand within our view.

Large families, older couples, obvious tourists out of their element. And as the hour got later, the place got full and though the level of noise rose, it didn't offend. The sounds were happy ones.

The paella was served with 5 big spoons so we could all help ourselves and eat from the same large pan that it was cooked in, but I still got plates for the little girls. Delicious. I could eat that every day. We sat and watched kids play and couples walk their dogs along the boardwalk. By 11:30 when we were getting ready to go, the entire area had come to life full of people's movement and laughter.

Tired and not quite adapted fully for the later night, we left dessert for another day although it was killing me. I haven't had coffee in days and the tiny cups of java I saw at other tables called to me. But 11:30 is late enough, no?

We got home just before 12 with exhausted girls. Next time we go, we'll bring scooters, so that they can ride and play too.

(Tiara was not at dinner with us. :) We brought home extra paella for her, but she would not leave her puppy alone for so long. Such a good "mommy.")

And on the puppy front - all is well. She's been with us just under a week managing to squirm her way into our hearts. Her likes are plants of all kinds with a special interest in giant dry ficus leaves. Her dislikes are cats (she's curious, but scared), and the word "no." Oh, and she loves dirt - particularly wet dirt. The yard guys came today to fix the watering system and so there was a wet mess in front and Logan rolled and played, jumped and wiggled all around it.

Dirty, but adorable. We might just have to keep her. ;)

After a long day, a long move, days of camping in an empty house, this is just kind of nice.

This is the club in our neighborhood. Membership is included in our rent. It's within walking distance and has an eclectic mix of members from all over the world. Today I met ladies from Norway, Portugal, and Italy. Nice people.

I feel like little orphan Annie moving into Daddy Warbucks neighborhood. "I think I'm going to like it here."

Oh, but among the beauty of the mountains and the pools, there is, sitting on white plastic chairs poolside, the more brawn than brains bronzed lifeguard who would rather talk on his cell phone or read a novel than do his job. He's polite enough to finish his conversation while an Italian mother holds a towel over the hole in her son's head screaming "sangre, sangre!!!" Luckily the mother is smart and quick with her car. Her son was fine after 4 staples in his head. This was not due to any help by the lifeguard at all who actually stalled her leaving for the emergency room by 10 minutes only to get a coworker who (also brawn and bronze - no brain) just looked at the open wound and concurred, yep, needs staples. She should take him to the emergency room. A sense of urgency? A bit of a hurry? None. These boys sauntered to the scene like they were heading to the bar for a cool one. Guess it's Mom's on Guard here.

It seems that while there are wines that I don't enjoy as much as others, here in Spain, there is not a single bad Spanish wine (that I've found so far). This is, in part, due to the inspired beverage called Sangria which can turn any average wine (or even downright bad one) miraculously into something you want to sip, gulp, or chug, over ice on a hot summer day until the pitcher, tub, or bucket is empty.

The time came to clean the guest house and after a full month, we found just a few bottles of red sitting around. I didn't have time to steam off labels or even to copy them down, so this is my way of note taking. The photo of 6 bottle are the ones that aren't bad, but not great. I won't necessarily buy them again. But, they ended up making great sangria. The photo of three were all great. The one in the middle we tried first. Of the two on the sides, the first was better, but I don't remember which one we opened first that night. Was a nice night with friends we'd just met, a good meal with BBQ, kisir, and dolmas. Good wine flowing.

This entry will be almost sans comments since I have to pack up this place and head to our empty home.

The photos are from Bétera where we went this morning to do some banking. They are setting up for a festival hence the white painted streets with streamers. The tile is a mail slot set into the side of a beautiful house. About 30 seconds after I took it, I heard "hola, hola...," turned around and saw a lady walking to me. She asked what I took a picture of and when I told her it was the beautiful tile mailbox, her face lit up. She told me that her husband painted it and has painted a lot of ceramic tile in the town. "People don't understand it now," she said. It was a nice exchange. I think I'll go talk to her next time I'm in Bétera and see if she'll show me his other work.

Anyway, today I'm packing up the sprawl that's occurred in our guest house from the 4+ weeks living here and heading to our empty house. Our furniture and endless sea of boxes should arrive on the 12th giving us exactly one week to "camp" at home.

No internet there yet. I'll pop in and post a few photos once it's up again.

Photos: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=133227&id=674507268&l=0ea5ad8250

Spanish Fauna: Big moth. Sitting on the ground, so we scooped him up to take photos of him. He didn't fly well, nor walk well. Seemed as though he might have been a bit borracho. Fell off the lemons, stumbled off the table, then fell onto Elise' bunny where we found him a couple hours later.




Wisdom from today: Do not lay in damp grass right after they fertilize it. Could produce a constellation of blue on previously clean clothes. Tiara and I made this mistake in our eagerness to take cute pictures of her (with hair and makeup done) and Logan. The previous day Tiara was absent from photos because it was her first full day with Logan after a long night and it took her a long time to actually get a shower. Such a new mommy! (Logan is doing great at night, but Tiara isn't sleeping well - mother worry? Plus she's setting her alarm and getting up every couple hours to check on Logan and take her potty.)

9 hours in the car. Not the 7 I'd hoped for, but totally worth it.

From the day we arrived we were told that EVERYTHING in Spain (other than the tourist industry) shuts down in August. So here I am, happy-go-luckily planning my Saturday to do a quick drive to Barcelona and back. The GPS said 3 hours and 40 minutes to the breeder's house. May be on another day. Not a Saturday. Not the 1st of August. Not when half of France were going home and all the Spanish were on the roads leaving it.

I appreciate the signs though. The first said "Accidente en 10km. Retencion en 2km." I was happy to get about 4 km down the road before the traffic stopped. Fully stopped. Car doors opened, people got out, talked to each other by the median, pulled out cigarettes and smoked. Some stayed in their cars with the windows rolled down and their legs sticking out. A woman wove in and out of cars "taking a walk" eating a peach. I was thankful that it wasn't a hot day. But I did get out, saunter down the road a couple cars behind and ask a couple guys how long this usually takes. "Depende." On the seriousness of the accident. This one seems bad. Could be an hour. I was happy he was wrong. Two more "retenciones" later and several toll booths and we found ourselves on a highway leading us winding up into the mountains where big terracotta colored homes sat precariously on cliffs edge as if ornaments hung on a giant tree. Villages with narrow winding streets lined with buildings sun faded from centuries ago. Women with scarves on their heads and baskets shopping. Then a steep road serpentine through the trees until it came to a really sweet village nestled in a valley that I'd love to explore some day, but couldn't today. So many photo ops missed. The views from the drive high up on the mountain were amazing.

We finally ended up in Castellcir - a tiny village with a round about at each end. We entered town, then called the breeder, got to the last round about as instructed, then called again just 60 seconds later and parked at the school just there. 5 minutes waiting and there she was in a cloud of dust from the tiny dirt road by the school. Eva, a tiny lady with short dark hair, slight features, a grand smile, and a chipped tooth. We followed her on probably the worst road I've ever driven, uneven dirt and rock, 8" gullies that I feared would swallow my tires if I slowed down. And arrived, finally, at a really run down stone building that looked more ruin that home, but served for her well - another lesson in the deceptive nature of websites, but a pretty house are not prerequisite for pretty dogs, so into her yard we went pushing past a sea of white tail wagging golden retrievers who wanted desperately to be loved by each of us before we were allowed entrance. The girls loved it. There we found amidst the 14 adult dogs, 4 darling puppies. The boy was sleeping in a corner and the girls all huddled under the picnic table trying to stay cool in the dry dusty heat. We stayed about an hour. Tiara played with the girls quickly falling in love with fatty. La gordita, we called her for a while. The biggest, strongest, prettiest of the girls. Though I could have taken the all home. The little girls played with the breeder's boys, picking unripe grapes and pelting each other with them. Eventually, we got the papers, paid, and got ready to make the drive back. Eva carried her to our van, cuddling her, loving her, obviously sad to let her go. She told us that she is the best of the litter and show quality though I don't think we'll ever do that.

Anyway, she did beautifully on the drive home. Cuddled in Tiara's arms sleeping most of it, happy and curious. She loves her toys and bark and leaves and dirt. And we all love her.

Breeder: http://www.diosneptuno.com/en/puppies.html
Photos: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=132353&id=674507268&l=48e74def5f

Ahhh. I've found my beach. Just 25 minutes from my house in a nice village with a long boardwalk with small vendors that set up each evening selling ice cream and imported clothing and jewelry. The beach and it's boardwalk seem to stretch out forever, long and wide with silky soft sand and aqua water shallow enough to wade out into as far in as the dunes are away - it's wonderful. Gentle waves with no undertow. Lifeguards. People in all shapes, sizes, and colors playing paddle ball, jumping in the waves, reading in lawn chairs, and walking. I've never seen so many people just walking the beach. I am a beach walker. Sitting still has never appealed to me, and here, I will not be alone. As I watched the girls play, I saw in the constant flow of people obscuring the view from my lens, many people walk by once, then return, and some even walk back and forth several times in the time we were there.

Topless is the norm. And while I cannot imagine the pain of a sunburn, well, there. I also am learning to just not notice, or not be bothered. It's just normal here. So there they are. Bouncing, hanging, swaying as the ladies walk. Brown, white, red. And though I don't think it's particularly attractive, eh, it's their country and if my little ones have noticed, they must not care. No, I won't acclimate here quite that much.

So far Luci and I have been disappointed by the scarcity of shells, but we were able to find a handful. Jut a handful, but that was enough to console us, the beach combers of the family. Leaving a beach without a shells is like returning from a trip without a single photo.

Not to leave without a bit of "strange" - not that the beach attire wasn't strange enough - we returned to our car parked just in front of a stage now congested with an ecclectic assortment of sweaty people wearing some sort of shoe elevated from the ground on a bouncy oval. Aerobics in funny shoes. Sweat, the handful of awkward ladies who were clearly lost, the girls who couldn't concentrate with their tongue in their mouth, and the instructor wearing a thong under the ill chosen white yogi (not yoga) pants clinging damply.

We watched that for a good 10 minutes before driving away, then laughed hysterically later at the photos I took... the facial expressions and the women who really needed more support. :)

Loving Spain.

PHOTOS: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=131455&id=674507268&l=646d88e2b5

This is Alex. She was a stray cat that lives in the gardens at the place that we're staying. From the first day we arrived, the girls have showered her with love, affection, and a name. Arianna is the one that named her. Elise picks her up and carries her all over the place. Alex just goes limp in her arms and tolerates it all. She purrs, she follows us around. She is absolutely wonderful. Within a week the girls were campaigning to keep her. Kirk thought yes. I said no thinking that Misha is old and shouldn't have to deal with another cat. Two days ago I noticed that her belly was getting big and her teats were swollen. Alex is pregnant. I thought yes. We need to make sure these babies have a chance. Kirk said no. But then, he saw Alex laying on "her" chair on the porch. He saw how the girls loved on her. He likes tabbys anyway. Then he fed her all the leftover scampi. That was it. There's no going back now. So, we now have enlarged our family by 4 paws. She'll have her kittens in a couple weeks (I think) which will be a wonderful experience for the girls. Then, when they are old enough, we will find homes or take them to the shelter with the hope for a happy outcome.

Misha is still with us. She's 21 and starting to really show it, but she did wonderfully on the move and I think she likes the small accommodations where she can't get lost and always find someone to snuggle with. Still affectionate, she is slowing down which worries me. Her hips are arthritic to the point that she her hind end falls over once in a while. We want to get her into our house and see how she does there when the stress of this move is over and she's in her permanent home. But we'll see. I'm worried and don't know if she'll make it to Christmas. I don't want her to suffer. So, we're all enjoying these moments. The littles argue over who gets to sleep with her and Tiara enjoys her quiet presence while she chats with friends on MSN. How she'll deal with Alex? I think she'll be ok. She's dealt with a lot of critters in her life and wold rather curl up on a bed than battle with another cat.

On Saturday our house will expand again, by another 4 paws, this time canine. We saw a puppy last Saturday that was adorable, but the situation was odd. We thought we were going to go see a little of puppies and had read about how to pick one. We were prepared to see the mother, watch the puppies play, then hold and play with our favorites. We arrived, were led inside the gate, then Esther went inside her home and brought out one darling white golden puppy and set her on the table. We didn't see the little, the mother, or where she slept. No choices. Just, here's the puppy. We all liked her ok, but didn't feel bonded with her. We wanted choices. So, this Saturday I'm driving to Barcelona (3.5 hours away) to see a breeder who has 3 puppies left for us to see and choose from. She's very nice, understands well what we want to do, and also guarantees the health of the puppy which the other breeder doesn't do. So, I think we'll come home with a puppy - a dog that Tiara's been wanting for years. At the top of her birthday and Christmas lists for, oh, probably the last 8 years or more.

The 25 minute walk in the hotter than hot heat of San Antonio just about killed me and instantly squelched any itchy-footed guilt about spending so much time lounging by the pool. Oh no. There is NO WAY I could have done sight-seeing today. It is "face of the sun" hot. Should have known by the empty streets that 3pm is not the time to be out. Shady poolside, here I come. I'll explore in September.

Over 100. Restless and grouchy. The kids are grumpy. It’s hot. Did I say that already. Kids play. Swim. Come in. Complain. Swim and play. I’m in and out. Trying to read, but it’s hot. Even too hot to tan. Sweat and flies - not my cup o' tea.

The one good thing about this heat of the laundry that dries in just a couple of hours where it was days before. Of course, the water is so hard here, I think my clothes will sprout calcified skeletons and walk off the racks themselves. Ugh.

PHOTOS:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=129891&id=674507268&l=e1426b5d30

Paraguayos. From Paraguay? I don't know. I looked these up on Wikipedia in English and Spanish and couldn't find anything. Paraguayo - as far as I know is a word referring to something from the country of Paraguay, but here, in my local grocery, these little fruits resembling squatty peaches are labelled by this odd name.

They taste, to me, a bit like a mild cross between an apple and a peach with flesh a bit crisper than a peach, but not quite as citrusy. The girls don't like them, but I think they are kind of nice. Not as sweet and sticky as a peach. A bit cooler - more refreshing.

Began my day watching synchronized swimming with the girls on TV. Spain won. Luci thinks she can do that. I don't doubt it. The US and Japan weren't there this year because of the "crisis." Crisis is a word that I'm hearing a lot here in random conversations. It's at the forefront of people's minds here and the scapegoat for anything going wrong.

I need new makeup, but all the foundation and press powder colors at the Mercadona are a lot darker than me. Either I tan significantly, or I will be ordering my "makeup for pale people" color translucent, online.

Other than the quick grocery run with Luci, we stayed home and played. I lounged in and out of the sun with a book, we watched the tremendous downpours of rain broken intermittently by shining sun, and the girls pretended that they were fish. Convincing little things. I think they are about to sprout gills. Elise went so deeply under water that the top of her snorkel was at least 1" below the surface, so she came up sputtering. I told her that if she took off the snorkel and just took a deep breath, she could swim without it. The rest of the day she swam all by herself in the deep part of the pool, following Tiara all over the pool. She's tireless and determined. Fun to watch.

All three little girls spent half the day playing with the large group of British youth here as a part of a church camp. They're learning to speak with a certain non-American inflection that is kind of funny to hear. And those long foam floatie things we Americans call noodles in the pool - in Brit speak, they are woggles. Elise likes the purple woggles best.

Tiara played ping pong and "hung out" with the French kids today. They speak very little English and she is too shy to try out her French, but they smiled and were polite together. A quiet group. The guitar player with his Beatles haircut told her he was going to sing in English. "Just the two of us. We can make it if we try. Just the two of us. You and I..." "Did you understand it?," he asks after? "Oui," she says and he beams with pride that he was able to sing in English. I wonder if he even understands the words. We don't know their names, so we talk about them mostly, according to the shirts that they seem to never change. Purple, the twin brother keeps staring at Tiara and watching her, but he's the quietest one. Dark hair and bright pale blue eyes. She's watching him too, but they mostly just smile at each other. Green is guitar boy - longer hair. Twenty is the older friend who speaks more English and made the mix up thinking that Tiara was in college. And "sister" is 12 and shy. Tiara smiled at her one day and "sister" just ran the other way.

Oh this Spanish schedule... at midnight walking through the gardens you can hear the clinking of silverware on plates and the quiet conversations. Coffee as my hydrant makes 0130 feel like 10. Sleeping until 10am, up until 2am. The lazy days of summer are liquid in Spain.

About a year ago I joined my Spanish friends for coffee at Noemi's house, a friend from Madrid. She's traveled a lot and is a bonafide foodie. Her husband had just returned from Spain with a few boxes of these, one of her favorite treats, something that she was gracious enough to share. It's always fun watching Noemi eat. Her eyes light up, the edges of her lips curl up as she takes a bite. She laughs and mmmms and just makes food look fun. So when I went grocery shopping and saw this familiar box on the shelf - here of all places, I was thrilled! A specialty of Leon, these flaky flower shaped pastries are made from layers of flaky pastry doused in powdered sugar. They are light and sweet and extremely messy. Must have coffee on hand.