I’ve used mourning as an
excuse to stop writing this blog, believing that my mom was the only one who
read it anyway. But the truth is, I
write it for me, and find that the time I spend wordsmithing tames my spinning
thoughts and calms my anxious hands. Writing
comes naturally to me, like sarcasm.
Also, nowhere does it say that there is honor in self-denial and giving
up things you love, anymore than the rhyme claims that Humpty Dumpty was an
egg, but we seem to assume both are true.
I have been watching and
reading the TV series “Isabel” to help me with my Spanish. It is historical
fiction based on the life and reign of Isabel la Católica, who reined Castilla
with her husband Ferdinand, the king of Aragón.
They united their kingdoms and together conquered Andalucía, motive for
which we understand completely after spending the holidays in beautiful Seville,
Córdoba, Cádiz and Algarve, Portugal.
It is tradition in Spain to
eat 12 grapes, one for each month, at the stroke of midnight on New Years Eve
to ensure good luck in the coming year.
So with fruit in hand, we huddled shoulder to shoulder with the
Sevillianos in chilly Plaza Nueva, waiting for word from la Puerta Del Sol in
Madrid that the calendar has turned. La
Puerta Del Sol is kilometer 0 in Madrid, from which all roads originate, so it
does not take a genius to reason why it is the location of the New Year’s Eve
countdown clock. As luck would have it,
we never actually heard the bells that were to be broadcasted, but we are
fairly certain that 2015 arrived and ate our grapes for good measure.
Sammie said that she is not
making any New Years “revolutions” this year, an awesome slip of the tongue
that she quickly caught and I find quite insightful. Rather than the circular game of making and
breaking promises to myself, I am going to simply try to do those things this
year that make me happy. Like “Burning
Paella” and digesting grapes at midnight with strangers.
The story goes that not even
the king’s men could salvage Humpty, but I think I can put my blog back
together. Like me, it’s not perfect, but
neither are we broken, so there is nothing really to fix. I will write to enjoy and remember what is
important, like my family, my faith, laughing at people who take me seriously,
and breakfast. So if you’ll excuse me,
my scrambled eggs are waiting.
