Water Court

The Valencia Water Court has been declared an Intangible Heritage of Humanity by UNESCO. While I’m not exactly sure what that means, it is a mouthful to say so I am duly impressed. Made up of democratically elected farmers, water court meets once a week in front of the Apostles Gate of Valencia's Cathedral, and settles conflicts between irrigation water-users orally, quickly, cheaply, publically and impartially. It is the oldest running judicial organization in Europe, rarely has anything to do, and seeing it in action made me giggle.

Water Court (he he he)

Jenni has been declared a Tangible Friend of Jacque and having her here was unquestionably, unequivocally, undeniably, irrefutably, and seriously something that made me smile.  Unlike water court, we were swamped, traveling from the polar vortex of Madrid, to the brisk Mediterranean coast I call home, and then north to gusty Barcelona.  Stealing warmth inside El Prado, Mercado San Miguel, and perhaps the most amazing place of all, Desigual, I laugh at how my favorite moments with her were when we were doing nothing at all.

My family was equally tickled to see Jenni, perhaps because it reduced their responsibility of entertaining me for a week.  We enjoyed showing her the Valencia we have come to know and love, and made her experience everything: paella, horchata, chufa, cañas, flamenco, tapas, sangria, cáqui, and water court (giggle).  Try as I might, I could not cough up a flying pig, so only Rebecca and Samantha accompanied me to my new Funky dance/exercise class to provide a comparison that made my classmates chuckle.

Some things are just too good to let go of.  Jenni is one of them.  Spain, too, is taking root in my heart.  And water court (giggle) guarantees my long, hot showers, which are necessary because the wind in my hair has reminded me that it is time to shave my legs.  Finally, I will hold on tight to anyone reading this because admit it, you could be doing something really important right now, but instead you are “Burning Paella”. 

It's time.

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.

Goodbye

You might not know this about me, but I am psychic.  Well not really psychic, because I can’t read minds or tell the future or anything, but I do sense things pretty strongly.  For instance, I am sensing the presence of some strong feelings in this room right now.  I’m right, aren’t I?  I feel tears being held back, I hear the laughter of memories, and I taste goodbye on my lips. Sometimes these psychic sensations manifest physically, and I feel sharpness in my gut and in my chest.  Maybe it’s not psychic manifestations at all, maybe it’s gastric, or maybe it’s a little heartache, a small tear, an empty space where something life-giving once resided.

To memorialize my mom, I want to say something that will pull on your senses, that will help you feel who she was, and stir emotions inside of you.  I want to make you laugh through tears, to remind you to never forget, and to ultimately hold on to the person next to you while letting her go.  But I realize that that is not my job to do, it was my mom’s job to make an impression, and by the number of people in this room, I sense that she did.

Mom was a teacher, but I don’t want to talk about her career. In her own words she knew everything and she had some very special lessons for me, as well as Pat and Jen, of course.  She taught me to smile big and laugh loud. She taught me to be responsible and help others.  She taught me that birthday candles are not near as important as the birthday cake, and that when you are sad, go shopping.  She taught me that clothes just look better if you buy them “on sale”, and that having “just a taste” of dessert doesn’t count as actually eating it.  She tried to teach me to sew, which only escalated into a lesson on anger management. But after that, she taught me that the only failure is in not trying. 

She taught me that “because I said so, that’s why” is, in fact, very good logic, and that true friends are there when you need them the most.  She taught me that dishes get cleaner if you wash them while signing and that forgiveness just helps you sleep better.  She taught me that if life gets too hard to stand, then kneel. I wish I could see her now, but I can’t because she also taught me never to look directly into the light.

Mom taught me that if you can’t play it on the piano, then it is not a song.  Piano keys are black and white but when she played them they sounded like a million colors.  I think that without a piano, she didn’t know what to do with her hands.  Growing up, I rarely saw her straight on, only her profile as she concentrated on the music while she played.  Getting her attention away from the piano was hard, and I admit bolting for the door sometimes when I heard her start to play that same song over and over again.  But I loved her playing, and grew up learning that music is what feelings sound like. 

If prayer is when you talk to God, and meditation is when you listen then for my mom, playing the piano was both at the same time. 

I know that mom left behind this minor life for a much grander forever.  I am in a stage of life when I am learning to let go, not because I want to, but because I have to.  My youth, my looks, my car keys, and my mind are frequently MIA.  My mom is gone, and my teenage daughters will leave soon.  Thinking about all of that brings me down, until I realize that I’m trying to hang on to things that never belonged to me in the first place. The truth is that after a while your hands start to cramp and the hanging on hurts.  

So I release my hold, and in the confidence of the firmness of the truth I have based my life on, in the power of the omnipotent God and risen Savior, and in the promise of the presence and comfort of the Holy Spirit, I kneel down and look towards the light.

It is possible to hear the music even when it stops making a sound. I feel a peace I cannot see, and I taste the sweetness of remembering.  My soul vibrates with her presence that runs through me, and I smell the fragrant redemption that is hers.  I love my mom with all of my senses.  It is impossible not to because she made me feel each one of them. 

El Método Pilates

My current lack of facebook posts might have you convinced that I am fat, and although I am suffering from the effects of second-hand sugar, I promise I can still get my spandex over my rear end.  Donning said attire, I make my way three mornings a week to the Pilates studio around the corner, where I bend, contort, breathe and balance my way through a class.  It is also a good Spanish lesson, as I can now confidently recognize the phrase “No Jacqueline, not like that.  You are doing it wrong”.

I believe that every mother eventually realizes that her children have, in fact, heard every word that she’s said, and that they just don’t care.  Apparently, I am proof that it is possible to grow old and not grow wise.  Lately, my goal as a mom is simply to do no harm, but I don’t know that I always succeed.  Today, sensing that the girls need some space, I’ve locked them outside.

My favorite Pilates move is the “child’s pose”, where you just sit back on your rear and relax.  It takes absolutely no effort and even I can’t do it wrong.  I rest in this humble position, with my forehead on the floor, knowing that there is more instruction (and more correction) soon to come, but that for a moment, I can just be.  I don’t have the core strength to constantly be in balance, and while I will continue to work on being both physically and mentally flexible, sometimes I just need to pause.  I need a day with nothing but my spandex holding me together.

Why are we so hard on ourselves as mothers?  What is it that we think is supposed to be happening that isn’t? Why do we allow small preoccupations to dominate our thoughts?  Why can’t my Pilates instructor just let me be?  And what the heck is that incessant knocking at the door?

Today I am going to do things my way, and that might not be someone else’s way, but it is not wrong.

La amistad

Fall is finally here and although I hate shopping, I love buying, and I am encouraged to know that relief from the heat is coming when I see sweaters in the store windows.  My new Spanish classes bring me once again to Calle Colon and the throngs of women in high heel shoes managing the cobble stone sidewalk.  I smile not only because I secretly expect to see one fall, but also because I want look as cool as they are holding all those shopping bags.

I am also a little jealous of them hanging out with friends. Laughing, drinking, gossiping and spending money are what make the world go around, and what is sad and pathetic when done alone, is super fun and “chulo” when done with others.  I’ve been introspective and contemplative for three months now, and its time to come up to shallower waters.  But to be clear, I don’t just want friends for partying and shopping.  Oh wait, yes I do. 

The best feeling is laughing with friends until you just can’t breathe and maybe even pee a little bit.  That laughter through tears thing rocks too.  But developing the deep friendships you need to pull this off takes time, opportunity, and perhaps a bit more personality than I can buy.  Laughter cleanses the soul, and as much as I’ve come to enjoy the noise it makes when it is quiet around here, I long for the howl of a good, wet belly laugh. 

My life, which is based on a true story, is full of people I adore.  One of who is coming to see me in a month and I simply can’t wait.  Jenni is the type of person who loves me for what others judge me for, and likes beer, so she is near perfect.  I am planning our trip, detoxing my body, and shopping for shoes that will take me from bar to store to museum and back again.   So I am headed to Colon, and if I don’t come back, please put my picture on the back of a bottle of wine so my friends will know to look for me.

How I feel when I think about my friends…

The Gym Super Vibro Max

 It is time to talk about the elephant in the room.

Yes, I mean that big, grey eyesore that serves no obvious purpose than comic relief.  We want to move it, but similar to a large animal or a bathroom scale, it just won’t budge.  True to most home exercise equipment, it does make a decent clothes rack, but it just stinks that it is always in my way.

I’m just going say it:  Valencia smells. The scent of fresh baked bread from the bakery next door is drowned out by car fumes and construction dust. I daydream of the scent of orange blossoms in the spring air but am choking on the smell of trash bins and second hand smoke.  And after three months in the same clothes, I am little ripe myself so I went out shopping for a fun skirt and found a really great handbag so I bought a new shirt.

I love the smell of a good rainstorm, and that is what has greeted us almost every day for a week.  Rain in Valencia is typically scarce, but we’ve been blessed with cool nights and freshly washed air.  Rain makes me contemplative, and as I wait for thoughts to grow, I realize how bohemian my life is here.  Everyday lies out like someday and I am living my dream.   I feel like I should go barefoot, wear flowers in my hair and learn how to play the harmonica.  Life is what you make it, and even on these grey days, I feel very fortunate.  Or maybe it’s my new lucky shirt.     

In some cultures, elephants are a sign of happiness, longevity and good luck.  But they smell.  So you have to take the good with the bad, the ups with the downs, and the perfume with the stench.  Today I am headed to the city center, where the fragrances are the most potent.  But it does not matter, because I plan on stopping along the way to smell the roses.

The Gym Super Vibro Max - Shaking your way to a healthier you.  Or not.