Did my last blog cause a stir or what? My mom said that it made her cry. My sister said that if she were my writing teacher and I turned that into her, she’d write “See Me” at the top of my paper. My sweet friend from Germany, Sabina, (who was partly responsible for getting Pedro and I together almost 20 years ago) wrote and said that she felt sad that Spain would never feel like home to me. And my mother and father-in-law now feel like we’ll never move there (although I’m not sure they believed me in the first place!). Ay Dios Mio!!!
A few weeks ago, Pedro’s brother emailed him and said he’d been selected by the Spanish government to be a poll “worker” (volunteer) in the upcoming election on November 20, and that he was required to be there. Pedro was absolutely miffed. I, on the other hand, was ecstatic! The 20th just happens to be the Sunday before Thanksgiving in the US, with holidays on Thursday and Friday. I envisioned taking Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday off work, thus giving us a nice week-long mini-vacation in Spain over the break. Pedro would need to cancel his classes, but so what? Who attends class that week anyway?
Sitting at my desk at work, I grew even more excited as I thought it would be a perfect opportunity to introduce Spain to my co-worker, friend and fellow world traveler, Christina. I ran in her office and told her of my plan and all the fun things we could do, including going to my favorite churro shop...
...soaking up the sun in my favorite park in Toledo...
...sampling some of my mother in-law’s famous cooking (This plate of croquetas, by the way, was devoured in 5 minutes one afternoon in June)...
...and hanging out with my fun family members.
I told her she could stay with us at my mother and father in law’s flat. I could just envision her sitting around the lunch-time table with us, savoring the Spanish food I know she would love. I really felt it would be no problem for us to fly to Spain for a week, enjoy all the familiar sights and sounds of Toledo and fly home, ready for work on Monday the 28th. No big deal, right?
Poor Christina felt differently about it and responded the way any sane person would. She said that was an awfully long trip and that that week is her “chill out week” before the holidays begin. She said that her husband, Harry, already had plans to go out of town that weekend and that they would really prefer to go to Spain together. Every excuse for not going was countered by a shrug of my shoulders and a chorus of “Do it! Do it! Do it!” from me. I was so excited by the prospect of getting out of Reno and back to Spain for a week that the practicalities of the trip were lost on me. Why? Because, in the end, Spain is not a far-away destination for me. Spain is something familiar, something kind of like…home?
In the end, Pedro managed to get out of his “service” to the Spanish government, which made him happy, but made me sad. I was really looking forward to the trip, impractical as it was. Since I left Spain in June, some important changes have happened, like my little nephew Diego walking for the first time. And we missed it.
If I may, I will quote from my last blog: “Family, history and a sense of place all make up what we know and feel as HOME.” If this is indeed true, then I guess I have established some roots in Spain, and feel at least SOME elements of home.
I still want to go to Spain over Thanksgiving. Cena a base de pavo*, anyone?
*cena a base de pavo = turkey dinner
