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runswithscissors


Friday, December 22, 2006

The third day back in Vermont, me continuing to wake up at ungodly hours of the early a.m., my body still making the slow switch from Madrid time to this time zone.

There is a way in which I hardly know I'm in the States -- I pay no attention to the news, most of my time is spent here at the house, on a hilltop surrounded by rural gorgeousness. I'm caught up in my day-to-day, and though that includes trips into Montpelier most days (as low-key a state capital as you can find), it all just seems to slide by in fleeting, light-as-a-feather fashion.

December sunlight and angled shadows give the day a look of impending sunset -- all day long, apart from, well, sunrise. Disorienting, and a little depressing, if I pay too much attention to the way the sun begins sneaking toward the horizon in what would be called mid-afternoon in most civilized places, slipping behind trees at 3:30, light giving way to darkness around 4:30.

Madrid, three days ago: me throwing things in my giant wheeled duffel (hereinafter referred to as the body bag), hauling it all five flights of stairs. Catching a cab, making the trip out to the airport. Huge lines of customers for airlines serving central and south america snaked out away from counters and along the concourse. And the counters for USAir? No line. None. Making me happy, and compensating a bit for for the sad edge of down-on-their-luck tackiness that seems to be part of the general ambience when flying with USAir. Nice people, though, both at the counter and in the plane.

Onboard, American voices spoke American English, sounding mighty strange after seven weeks surrounded by Spaniards and Spanish. My seatmate: a sweet 20-something woman returning home to Texas after spending 15 or so weeks working in Salamanca, the old, old university town in the mountains northwest of Madrid. She'd spent the entire night out partying with Spanish friends, they'd driven her directly from the festivities to the bus station, the bus had taken her directly to the airport. Her friendliness wilted some as the need for sleep took over, by the time the plane was in the air she was out cold, head hanging loosely as she slept.

Eight hours. Eight long hours seat-belted into that seat, the bulkhead and window shade to my left bearing small brown spatter stains from some earlier passenger's coffee (there's that sad, tacky edge again), the sweet woman next to me mostly asleep, coming to for food, then drifting off again. She returned to consciousness as we neared Philadelphia, December sunlight flooding in through the plane's oval windows.

To that point, as I've written in an earlier entry, I hadn't yet heard a Christmas carol this season. As soon as we entered the baggage reclaim area: 'Silver Bells.' The first in a constant stream of Christmas tunes that could be heard everywhere as I made my way through the unbelievably elaborate airport security maze.

The plane touched down at three. I was free of customs/security at 4:10. The upside: I got chatting with a nice woman who stood next to me in one of the several check-point lines, we wound up eating together, both of us with long layovers, talking for nearly three hours in a large cafeteria area.

[continued in next entry]


Espaņa, te echo de menos.

rws 5:21 AM [+]

Comments:
Wishing you a wonderful New Year, best wishes, The Artist
 
I wish you the same, with all best wishes.
 
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BLATHERINGS

August 2001
September 2001
October 2001
November 2001
December 2001
January 2002
February 2002
March 2002
April 2002
May 2002
June 2002
July 2002
August 2002
September 2002
October 2002
November 2002
December 2002
January 2003
February 2003
March 2003
April 2003
May 2003
June 2003
July 2003
August 2003
September 2003
October 2003
November 2003
December 2003
January 2004
February 2004
March 2004
April 2004
May 2004
June 2004
July 2004
August 2004
September 2004
October 2004
November 2004
December 2004
January 2005
February 2005
March 2005
April 2005
May 2005
June 2005
July 2005
August 2005
September 2005
October 2005
November 2005
December 2005
January 2006
February 2006
March 2006
April 2006
May 2006
June 2006
July 2006
August 2006
September 2006
October 2006
November 2006
December 2006
January 2007
February 2007
March 2007
April 2007
May 2007
June 2007
July 2007
August 2007
September 2007
October 2007
November 2007
December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
May 2008
June 2008
July 2008
August 2008
September 2008
October 2008
November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
June 2009
July 2009

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


MORE FOCUSED BLATHERINGS


Travels:
London '01
Pamplona
Italy '03
U.K. '03
Sevilla
Casablanca
Stoke-on-Trent
Barcelona
Québec/Ottawa
Boston/Lisbon/Madrid
Italy '04
Montréal
La Sierra

Events:
Madrid -- arrival
9/11
Emergency Room I
Holidays 2001
Holidays 2002
Holidays 2003
Holidays 2004
Holidays 2005
A neighbor's passing
Madrid -- March 11 bombings
  and aftermath
Emergency Room II
Israeli friend/Madrid Marathon
Madrid -- Royal Wedding
The DELE exam

GONE, a novel:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10

THE BASTARD CHILDREN OF
JOE ROCCO, a novella:
-- Part 1
-- Part 2
-- Part 3

BURBANK SHRUGGED,
a screenplay:
-- Part 1
-- Part 2
-- Part 3
-- Part 4

Short stories:
Murphy's Wife
Another Autumn
La Queja de Una
  Hermanastra Muy Conocida

Autobiography
-- Personal History
-- Hormones On Parade
-- Accidents, Random Mishaps,
    Personal Problems

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


OTHER SOURCES OF WHOLESOME ENTERTAINMENT

People/Weblogs:
dooce
foxvox
fudge it
fear not
rebekka
bookslut
802online
idle words
madhaiku
wockerjabby
grow-a-brain
rebel market
letting me be
out and about
kung fu grippe
fanatical apathy
baghdad burning
wfuv's music blog
kexp's music blog
mimi smartypants
between the miles
just a hippie gypsy
the impossible cool
tomato can brushes
vermont homestead
sugar mountain farm

Good Clean Fun:
gizmodo
futurismic
postsecret
dave barry
human clock
mcsweeney's
spaceweather
book-a-minute
internet archive
self-portrait day
my cat hates you
out of context quotes
surrealist compliment
  generator
strindberg and helium

Makin' Musical Whoopee:
last fm
stereo8
pandora
soma fm

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


ABOUT RWS/CONTACT





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