Coming home

In pondering my closet, I marvel at what I chose to bring:  Eight pairs of pants, five of which are black running pants.  Nine long sleeve shirts, four of which are blue, and do not look good with black running pants.  Two stained blouses, one clearance rack dress, (which should have been left on the rack), and socks that are paired together but don’t match.  I’m not sure what I was expecting, but clearly I am not as prepared as I thought.

Everyone, and I mean every single one of us, is walking around with a weight on our hearts that no one else can see.  I carry mine around with a smile so no one knows it’s there and I can pretend it isn’t happening.  Last night I counted and I have 90 problems and 86 are completely made up scenarios in my head that I have chosen to stress about for absolutely no reason at all.  Three of the four that remain concern access to food, wine, and if anyone can tell my socks don’t match. 

But my last concern is a biggie, and has got me pretty down.  I was not prepared to be coming home already.  I was not prepared for my mom to take such a turn for the worse.  I am not ready to say goodbye.  I am not prepared to need a black dress.

I know this post is rather “flippant” considering the gravity of it, but it is how I need to deal with it right now.  Writing takes a little of the weight off, and telling people is my cry for help.  I have been expecting this day to come eventually.  But I am not prepared.

Loss

It’s just gone.

I swear I saw a cute little market around here somewhere, but for the life of me I can’t remember the street I was on when I saw it.  It’s like it was here one day and gone the next.  It sold fresh fruit and veggies, along with items that looked “WholeFoods-ish”.  While I am getting my exercise meandering the neighborhood looking for it, people must think that I am lost.

In class today, I learned the Spanish word for a person who is absent-minded and always losing things.  I’d tell you what it is but I can’t find my notebook.  Other things of mine have gone missing recently like my desire to run and my giant bar of chocolate.  But I think those two things are related.

Eleven years ago, we adopted Toby from the humane society.  He was lost and we were looking for a friend.  Sammie and Toby bonded, so when we lost him this week, she took it pretty hard.  I watched her cry, rubbed her back, and held her tight.  I don’t what is harder: mourning a loss or watching someone you love grieve.  The tears will not bring Toby back, but we let them flow to cleanse our souls.

I am proud of both girls for handling the loss of a pet with grace and maturity.  I watch them navigate life and the streets of Valencia all on their own and marvel at the young women they are becoming.  While they are sometimes unsure of exactly what turn to take, they seem to know where they are going.  We are learning that difficult roads can lead to beautiful destinations.

I don’t know where Toby is now.  I don’t know where my chocolate is, and I don’t know which street my market is on.  But to help navigate this sad day, I’ve found my desire to run. I’ve also just found my notebook, so maybe I’m not as despistada as I thought.

A girl and her dog.

Hablo Español

Our Spanish classes are going great.  Dodging pigeons along the way, we walk to school every morning and are completely worn out and brain dead by lunchtime.  Our goal is to speak only Spanish at home, which has created a very quiet environment indeed.  But the limits of our language are the limits of our lives here, so with books in hand, we open our minds to Valencia.

This week I stumbled upon a language exchange website.  Turns out there are not too many native English speakers here willing to share their verbal skills so I have never been so popular.  Within 24 hours my inbox was flooded with people wanting to exchange Spanish for English, and now in addition to the three people I know in Valencia (Keith, Becca and Sam), I now know Lola and Vicente. 

Lola knows me as the insufferable American who drones on about running, food, and her kids.  After an hour and a half, I’m sure I saw blood dripping from her ears and a tear in her eye.  Vicente speaks very fast, and knows only the ¨deer in the headlights¨ Jacque who marvels at the fact that he just got back from somewhere doing something and may or may not have a twin brother with bad teeth.  My hope was to blossom into an elegant Spanish-speaking songbird, but I feel like an ostrich who should bury her head in the sand.

But, C’est La Vie.  No, I’m not that confused.  It is the name of the French bistro around the corner where I sip my red wine and ponder what I might have said to my new friends.  Lola just texted me, so she has not yet flown the coop, and I have hope.  I know that when you are truly genuine, there will be people that don’t like you, but that it is important to keep being yourself without apology.  So I squak on, and I just know that one day, Vicente and I will eloquently swap stories about his brother’s dental implants and I will be flying high.

                                                           Our walk to school…

                                          The girls enjoying time with classmates!

Piso

I am happy to report today that we have found a place to live!  It was not an easy task, so I have written down a few pointers for looking for a piso (apartment) in Valencia:

1.  Find map of the city.  The street names will be in Valenciano and you won’t be able to pronounce them, however, you can point to streets on the map which will make you look worldly and knowledgeable.  Taxi drivers really respect that.

2.  Find someone to help you.  There are leasing agents everywhere, so just give one a call. To do this, you need a phone.   In order to get a phone, you need a NIE (like a Social Security Number).  To get a NIE, you have to finish the VISA process you thought you completed 5 month ago.  The first thing Ministerio del Interior asks for? Your address.  The second?  Your phone number.

3.  Now you are ready to look at apartments.  Many will be pictured on the internet so you can get a feel for them.  But don't get to excited, none of them are actually available anymore.

4.  Meet your leasing agent to view piso #5.  Squeeze four people into an elevator built for two and press "3" which is really the fourth floor because buildings in Spain start with 0.

5.  Sign lease in Spanish.  It would be wise to learn as much Spanish as possible before signing legal documents.  I highly recommend immersion classes because the teacher does not speak English and you are forced to learn quickly.  However, that also makes it hard to understand what the teacher is saying.  So it is best to know Spanish before you get to class.

In the end, we are very happy with our new piso.  I can point to it on a map sometime for you. The only thing we need is internet connection.  We’ve been told to do that online.

Rebajas!

Pantsuits.

Yea, I know, I am as surprised as you are.  I am surprised they exist, I am surprised people buy them, and I am surprised that I am writing about them.  I have a distant memory of wearing a romper when I was young, but overall, I’ve been able to elude extreme fashion missteps as perpetrated by the purchase of a one-piece pantsuit.

I am often surprised about what surprises me.  I am surprised that the term “ugly American” exists when it is the European tourists that are so pushy.  I am surprised that even in a bad economy, apartments are expensive and hard to find.  And I am surprised that this lauded “healthy Mediterranean diet” contains so much bread and fried food.  And humbly, I am surprised that Spanish fluency is still so distant.

But the surprises have overall been very positive:  we were surprised by an opportunity to spend the day with friends at Cullera, a beautiful beach south of Valencia; we were surprised that the girls got to take sailing lessons on the Mediterranean with their Spanish class; and Surprise! -  We have phones! My number is 665 01 77 61.  You can call, but don’t be surprised if I don’t answer.

We seem to have arrived just when all the stores are having their midseason sales.  The throngs of Europeans tourists are overwhelmed with the excitement of purchasing something regardless of the fashion statement it makes.  If you need a pantsuit, I suggest you put your order in soon.  I’d be surprised if there are any left by the end of the week.

A great buy at ANY price!