Skipping Town

Tonight, my Unazukin and I had a photo shoot in various places around the house. I'd wanted to have the shoot outside, in the snow, but Unazukin told me she didn't like the snow--though she admitted she didn't mind being cold. She agreed that it was illogical, but there we were. I'll try to stage an outdoor shoot another time. We also had a frank discussion about our imminent return to Spain. Like yesterday, she said she was excited to go--but tonight she also admitted she was nervous. "Is it because you're scared of Andrew?" I asked gently. But she shook her head. "Is it because you don't speak Spanish?" She nodded--this was it. Little Unazukin is nervous about the language barrier. I assured her she would pick up Spanish in no time, and she agreed that, yes, she's gifted with languages. She then agreed that I should talk to her for my entire transatlantic journey and let her handle the questions at customs and passport control. As prac

Being back in Connellsville for this extended period of time (all told, about six weeks) has made me feel—perhaps understandably—out of whack. I vaguely remember having an adult life away from here; was it in Barcelona? I vaguely remember having a non-long-distance relationship; I have flashes of frequent travels and lots of mad dashes through airports in other countries, yet I don’t think I’ve put shoes on for the past three days. Like that commercial for the Visa check card where one clueless guy jams up an efficient, fast-moving system by paying for his deli meal in cash—shocked customers colliding into one another behind him, the checkout line having come to a sudden, violent stop—so too has my “aggressively European” life (to loosely quote one friend who made a visit) come to a screeching halt. That’s not to say this extended stay has lacked entirely for nice diversions. There were pleasant jaunts to Fairport and Jacksonville. There was a weekend in NYC, with excellent Broadway s

The holidays are over, and I’ve begun the final three weeks of my Exile from Spain. That term isn’t entirely accurate, since I’m staying out of Spain for these weeks in an effort to avoid being exiled for overstaying my visa. Nonetheless, there is something incredibly frustrating about this, wanting to be back in Barcelona but needing, for official reasons, to stay away. This Exile was planned carefully, structured so that I’d have the least amount of time apart from Andrew and the maximum amount of time taken up with the activity of the holidays—hence my arrival here before Thanksgiving—and so that I can avoid staying out of Barcelona for the entire duration of the eighty-odd days I’m supposed to be “out of the Schengen area.” When I return on February 2, I’ll be able to spend almost the entire month there—and I’ll make up the remaining ten or so days I need to spend out of the Schengen area by taking an eleven-day trip to Ireland and Scotland. The plans have been complex,

What’s great about this New Year—aside from all the exciting things coming up, including a few fabulous trips—is that I no longer have to make any decisions about my life. For Christmas, I was given an Unazukin—a small fairy who “lives under the big mushroom in a woods” and “enjoys listening to the talk of other peoples,” according to the website and package. She’s small—about two inches high, and shaped like an egg—but powerful. With a nod, a double nod, a headshake, or a double headshake, she can indicate whether she agrees or disagrees with my plans, or what course of action I should take. Today I asked her to weigh in on some of my New Year’s resolutions. She first shook her head, chastising me for addressing her in an unnecessarily loud voice. She then agreed that I’ll do more writing this year, and she supported my resolution to continue learning Spanish. She agreed that I should resolve to update my blog at least once a week. However, when I asked her if I should live this year

For the first time in many, many years, I had fun on New Year’s Eve. This is a landmark event; normally, NYE is a time of dread and anxiety. It still is—there’s something about the ten-second countdown at midnight that makes me feel like a sinister black shroud has gotten tangled up in my gut—but, barring that admittedly short span of time, this year proved enjoyable. I’m in Jacksonville right now, and Andrew and I spent the Eve helping prepare a dinner party at his sister Katherine’s apartment for a few of her friends. Around ten, we went to a local bar with a nominal cover charge and manageable crowds. No line for the ladies’ room, a short wait for a drink—aside from just staying home with a DVD, this was a good place to spend the Eve even by my NYE-hating standards. I may have even worn a gold NYE-style tiara and gold beads...but there are no pictures to prove it.