Everything's Gonna Be Fine, Fine, Fine

After 9 weeks of being busy and in control (and attempting to be upbeat) every day, I had assumed I would have a major emotional crash once I got home (that would be a good possibility even if I weren't always defending myself from my clinical depression). Happily, I have had no major crash.

(I'm knocking on wood right now and poo-pooing away the evil spirits.)

Friday will be two weeks since my return home. I still feel somewhat disconnected and under-motivated. But that's nothing compared to what I had expected to feel.

The photos today are, like me, scattered. (Click any image to enlarge.)

NORTHWEST OF MÁLAGA JUST BEFORE LANDING.

THE ALWAYS SERENE OLIVIA WELCOMED ME HOME.

A WEDDING IN OUR NEIGHBOURHOOD LAST WEEKEND.
(THIS IS DEFINITELY NOT BROOKLYN.)

COFFEE AT MESON SALVADOR. THE WAITER ANTONIO
GAVE SAN GERALDO THREE MINI-MUFFINS (WITH HIS SACCHARIN)!

ANTONIO DIDN'T GIVE ME ANY!
BUT SOMEONE IN THE KITCHEN HEARD ME WHINING.

So I've got one hand in my pocket and the other is
Holding FIVE chocolate chip mini-muffins!

Water Fountain

Here's a shot from August of a misguided Coney Island beach-goer attempting to fill a plastic cup with water. (Click the image to see by how far the water missed the cup.)

AT LEAST HE COOLED OFF; HE NEVER DID FILL THAT CUP.

"Gonna  get the water from your house, your house."

Munchkins, Chocolate Balls, and Whoopee

It might not be clear from the title, but this blog post is all about the snacking my cousin Evie and I did on the road back from the wedding we attended the weekend before I returned to Spain. Through the states of New Hampshire, Vermont, Massachusetts, Connecticut, and finally New York, we stopped a few times — only at the finest establishments.

EVIE'S FAVORITE ON-THE-ROAD SNACK.
I USED TO CALL THEM DONUT HOLES.
DUNKIN DONUTS CALL THEM MUNCHKINS
I CAN THINK OF SOME OTHER NAMES FOR THE CHOCOLATE ONES.

A TRUCK STOP IN VERMONT.

THE SURPRISES THAT AWAITED AT THE TRUCK STOP.

A WALL OF TEMPTATIONS.

OVER-SIZED WHOOPIE PIES.

I HEADED OUT WITH AN OATMEAL/CHOCOLATE "BAR"
... BECAUSE OATMEAL IS HEALTHY.

EVIE HAD NEVER HAD A WHOOPIE PIE AND THOUGHT WE'D SPLIT ONE.
BUT THAT WAS WAY TOO MUCH WHOOPIE FOR ME.

Since I'm sure you can't live without some more information on the Whoopie Pie, I'll tell you that it's the State Treat of Maine (as opposed to the State Dessert, which is blueberry pie). Pennsylvania, Maine, New Hampshire, and Massachusetts all claim the Whoopie Pie as their own invention. The Whoopie Pie is really thought to have its origins in Amish and German culture and was most likely brought to Maine by Amish groups that migrated from Pennsylvania. Apparently, the expression "whoopie pie" is now also used to describe a variety of adult-rated activities. But you can look that up yourself in the Urban Dictionary.

Fluent, Fluency, Affluent, Influenza?

My first month in New York, I practiced my Spanish daily with Duolingo. But times became too stressful to even do that. I managed to converse in Spanish at times with hospital staff, but that wasn't enough to improve my skills (although it did impress My Mother The Dowager Duchess).

But, I'm back in Spain and back to working on my Spanish proficiency. Interestingly, the break seems to have done me some good. I'm quickly back up to speed and I'm more readily absorbing new words and verb forms.

Speaking of proficiency, last night San Geraldo said something in English that wasn't quite correct. (A regular occurrence.)

He then said something in Spanish that wasn't quite correct. (Another regular occurrence.)

Then he said a Spanish word and asked if it was Spanish or Russian (his undergrad degree was in Russian Studies). In can sometimes confuse him. For example: In Spanish, "ya" is "already" and "yo" is "I"; in Russian, "ya" is "I." So, yeah... yah... yes, I understand the problem.

Anyway, I could answer for the Spanish, but I had no idea about the Russian.

DUDO DOESN'T UNDERSTAND EITHER.

AND MOOSE CAN'T BE BOTHERED.

San Geraldo commented that he obviously needs to work on his "fluenticity."

Yes, he does.

At least as soon as the word left his lips, he smiled and said, "Ooh, that's not a word, is it."

I smiled and responded, "Maybe in Russian?"


This song seemed appropriate.  Language, it's a virus...

Bear With Me

After riding in the car for more than six hours, I was looking forward to checking into my room at the Mount Washington Hotel in the White Mountains of Northern New Hampshire. Unfortunately, I was a last-minute responder and there was no room at the inn.

At first, there was a room at the lodge just outside the grounds. It was an easy 1-km walk (5/8 mile) back up the drive. No problem for me. But the hotel staff laughed and said, "You shouldn't do that walk at night."

"Why?" I scoffed. "Am I going to get mugged?"

"No," I was told, "But you might run into a bear."

Anyway, that room disappeared while we talked, so I shared a room with my cousin the first night.

I went for a walk the next morning and discovered this was serious business. There were actually warning signs posted around the property. Still, I didn't see any bears — unless you count some of the guys at the wedding. I did, however, meet some very friendly horses... and an irresistible pig.

(Click any image to

ENTERING MOUNT WASHINGTON RESORT
(MOUNT WASHINGTON IN BACKGROUND).

MAIN BUILDING OF THE RESORT.
A COZY LITTLE PLACE.

THE WHITE MOUNTAINS.

A VIEW TO THE NORTH VERANDA.

AN INN ON THE PROPERTY.

THERE WERE GIANT CHECKERS, TOO.

ANOTHER INN ON THE PROPERTY.

BEHIND THE HOTEL AT SUNSET.

MOUNT WASHINGTON OBSCURED BY MORNING FOG.

A BRIEF DALLIANCE.
HE WAS A BIT CLINGY; SO, I LEFT WITHOUT GETTING HIS NAME.

RALPH.

GLEN ... AND FRIENDS.

Loose Feet

Before my return to Spain, I spent a few days at a wedding in northern New Hampshire that — had it not been for my long summer in New York — I would never have been able to attend.

My cousin Al — actually my cousin's son (a museum art curator) — married John (an actor, director, writer, and producer) at the Omni Mount Washington Hotel in the White Mountains of Northern New Hampshire. It was a beautiful, elegantly casual, and — thanks to the cast of characters — joyful, often silly, and unusually creative event. To say that I adore my cousin Al would be an understatement. He is one of the people in my life that I most admire. Strong, funny, kind, loving, honest. And in finding John he found someone I consider worthy of his love – another exceptional human being.

I have loads of photos of the stunning scenery, entertaining wedding outtakes, and original poetry. But today I thought I'd start at the bottom.

The wedding's color-scheme is apparent in the first two photos. (Click the images to make the feet bigger.)

THE GROOMS:  SEER-SUCKER SUITS AND SPLASHY SOCKS.

DANIELLE, "BEST GAL PAL OF HONOR."

SISTERS... CARLY AND BROOKE, 15 AND 13.

STYLIN'

PINEAPPLE TOES.

THE COLOUR OF A PETITE SIRAH? (THAT'S WINE-TALK).
(FOR SOME REASON THE COLOUR IS CALLED "LIDIA.")

TANGERINE TOES AT THE AFTER-HOURS S'MORES PARTY.

AL'S NIECE LILY. (SHE STARTED THE DAY WITH SHOES.)

Lose your blues... Everybody cut footloose.

A Room Without A Roof

I'm happily back in Spain with San Geraldo (and Dudo and Moose), since Friday afternoon. As I've walked around town, I've received hugs and kisses to welcome me home. Some of those hugs and kisses have even been from people I know. I love Spain.

My Mother The Dowager Duchess has been in her own home nearly two weeks. She's not as strong as she used to be, nor as energetic. But her back is perfect and she's feeling better every day. She's got private 24-hour assistance for the first four weeks at home and she's grateful for that... But she can't wait to have her independence again.

The Duchess was a much better hospital patient than San Geraldo or I could ever be. Seven and a half weeks? Seven hours and we'd have been whining non-stop. Of course, my mother had her moments... and days.  So I spent a lot of time being "Little Mary Sunshine." (I don't know how my mother felt about it but, sometimes, I wanted to slap myself.)

The photos are from Coney Smorgasburg. At a variety of locations around New York City, Smorgasburg "showcases the best of Brooklyn's artisinal food scene." Coney Island's Smorgasburg includes a street-art show. I was there on a Wednesday, when only a couple of food stands were open, so I got to enjoy the art in relative solitude.

Listen to the music and click the images. I hope you feel "like a room without a roof."

Jet-lagged... But, clapping my hands.