Friday evening in Madrid. Spring arrived a week ago, ignoring the calendar and blessing this peninsula with weather which has only improved with each passing day. The temperature yesterday and today coasted smoothly into the upper 70s, which has had people hanging out at cafes, soaking up sunlight, chatting over glasses of soda, beer, wine. I've been one of them at times during recent days. Upon stumbling out of the gym yesterday, I spotted an empty table at a nearby sidewalk restaurant and grabbed it, tossing myself into a chair for my first open-air meal of the year. On two or three other occasions, in walking through the plaza here in the neighborhood, I've come across an available table and chair that were impossible to pass by, leading to 30-60 minutes of sloth and people-watching. Time well spent, I think, especially given the local color.
To balance that out, I've been working hard here at home on writing during long stretches of the last three or four days, which has also felt like time well-spent. The inward-diving of the few days post-Italy seem to have morphed into these recent days of productive work hours alternating with brief passages of indolence. Not a bad balance.
A friend is staying here this weekend. Between that and the offline writing, I have no idea how much I'll be posting here. In the meantime, entertainment abounds at other cyber-locales.
Over at Fussy, Mrs. Kennedy is making preparations to attend the Day After St. Patrick's Day Guinness-and-Corned-Beef Paint-Peeling Fart Hoedown and B.Y.O.B. potluck bingo brawl.
Meanwhile, Sarah B. is thinking of moving and is soliciting opinions on likely destination cities. At last count, the number of comments stood at 177.
Yes, I admit it. All of those links -- high-quality fare, every one -- are an elaborate cover for the fact that I don't have much of my own to offer today. I've been working too hard or not getting enough sleep or been too distracted with people crashing here. Or something. I'll do better tomorrow. Or Sunday. Maybe. We'll see.