Last night, over dinner, Andrew remarked that when we think back to what we were doing a year ago, we’ve now reached the point that we’re thinking back to California. Until June, thinking about what we were doing a year ago was pretty painful, since we were usually doing something ridiculously fabulous: journeying to Madrid, or having a seafood lunch somewhere on the Costa Brava, or taking a road trip through Basque country, or swimming at a Barcelona beach, or drinking one-euro wine on our terrace with La Pedrera just out of sight around the corner. We’d always recount those “year ago” observations while doing something not-so-fabulous, like sitting in traffic or waiting at the Laundromat or passing out from the heat, and it was enough to bring about a difficult-to-shake malaise.
Now, however, when we think back to a year ago, we admit that we have it pretty good: after all, a year ago, we were still in the studio apartment Citrus Heights. We may have had an air mattress and a chair by then; I’m not sure. Oh, how far we’ve come.