It seemed to make a lot more sense to be having a good time in Mexico over the winter while the contractor created the perfect kitchen. He had a lot of work to do making custom cabinets, installing a new floor, new appliances, and creating a totally different layout after the room was gutted. He also had to install a new large bay window in the breakfast nook area and a smaller bay above the sink. Lots of work that I didn’t want to watch being done.

If only I had practiced my beloved guitar,

After learning the cords, I coulda been a big star.

But I would only strum,

Making up songs with a hum.

When the mood hit every now and then.

We all wondered what in the hell we were doing there, from the sounds of the fright and exclamations upon hearing the rifle fire sounding closer and my own feelings. We were very troubled about our roles, as many had never even fired a gun.

Touch. Such a simple yet powerful action.

Not a poke or prod. Those have negative connotations and effects. They are to get attention and are harder. Who wants to be poked?

A touch is softer. It can say, “Hello, dear friend. It’s so good to see you!”

Or it can say, “Hi, my love!”

Or it can say, “You are so special!”

Suddenly we heard loud clomping - rat-a-tat-tatting - and soon a tallish, very slender man dressed in black tight pants, a blousy purple shirt and a green silky scarf around his neck came stomping out in his heeled dancing shoes. The four of us were not only startled by the sudden loud noise but were surprised that the dancer was a man, and not a woman in a red dress as we had expected.

There was still more music up the street, but this time it sounded like a whole orchestra. As we got closer to the sound, I could see that it was, indeed, an orchestra with a violin soloing. The violin was lilting and lovely but instead of seeing a human playing the stringed instrument, we saw a miniature ensemble of characters, one being a male figure with a bald head, dressed in a red shirt and black pants, standing and playing a violin, controlled by a puppet master who stood behind the little guy.

It was going to be two years since Pete died, her husband of nearly forty years. Thirty-nine years, seven months, and twenty-two days, Alice kept reminding herself when she felt downright depressed from the loss and the loneliness, which was often. Too often, her friends would tell her when she’d call to sob out her misery over the phone.

When does a traveler get tired of traveling?

When does a writer get tired of writing?

When does a doer of anything get tired of doing anything

they love?

A big damn bird flew in front of our car,

As we drove down the road to Seville (Sayveea).

It landed in a field but was too far

To see what it might be-a.

Was it a giant bird or small plane?

I chuckled to myself.

That thought was silly and quite inane

Yet I knew it was no elf.

Our trip from Valencia to Granada in the rental car was freeing and amazing. Freeing because we could go anywhere, instead of being stuck in a train to only go where the schedule took us. And it was amazing because we could see areas beyond the windows of the trains we rode. In the trains, we had to go through tunnels, under bridges, past towns, and the seaside with limited scopes of seeing what we passed from the faster speeds and landscapes that whizzed by in a blur.

Most people are familiar with the song Castles in the Sky by Ian Van Dahl, about life and dreams, but what about real castles that reach up to the sky? Ever wonder why they were built so high above everything else? Or do you assume it’s because the king wanted to be far above his lowly kingdom to rule over it and make the minions remember his point of power and placement above all others?

Graffiti all over the buildings, Oh my!

How can they let this go on?

The colors covering spaces we walked by,

Miss-matched browns would have covered each one,

If we were in the States, that is,

For graffiti is not condoned.

But in España it’s encouraged, it ‘tis,

Because it was there wherever we roamed.

The flavors exploded in my mouth as I chewed. The spices were unusual and indistinguishable because they were blended so well, which made the taste go far beyond the expected flavors I was used to on grilled beef. I was in love with the food and the restaurant. Toward the end of our meal, and after our second gin drink with cardamom and lemon, we were served a wonderful, melt-in-your-mouth cheesecake that was unlike any cheesecake I had experienced, and I love cheesecake. An extraordinary meal.

Who of us would have even known the date of the Chinese New Year, let alone the possibility of a festival in its honor being held in Valencia, Spain, and right near the train station? None of us, for certain. Nor did Rachel and Rex, who were totally unaware of the goings on just a few blocks from where they sat waiting.

Most of the Spaniards and Europeans seemed to know exactly what looked good on them. But then the ‘what-to wear’ decision was eased because all wore black, dark browns, or dark grays. And what they wore was well thought out, well-pressed, and tailored with few frills. The women wore black pantyhose with skirts that were above-the-knee or longer, or slim pants above the ankle with heels.

I’ve wanted to know if people in Spain even celebrated Valentine’s Day. I wasn’t sure if the day was only big in North America and not significant worldwide. Because in the States, several weeks before February 14th, we see billboards and signs all over storefront windows advertising the fact that businesses have something special for a loved one. Almost like at Christmas time. However, during our travels in Spain, as the day approached, I only saw one sign depicting the traditional symbol of the day: the heart.

I was fascinated by the haphazard way the streets came together and then veered off to what first looked like a cul-de-sac-like end, but, instead, continued around a sharp or curvy corner to yet another alleyway at a different angle. It was like a maze of stucco, or whatever material the buildings were faced with, and each alley had its own personality.

At Zaragoza, the cab driver who took us to our hotel in Old Town told us that Zaragoza was considered the wedding capital of Spain, and had hundreds of weddings throughout the year. He said the wedding festivities were quite a sight because they were often very elaborate.

Our hotel was a remodeled old building that melded the modern aspects of a remodel with the old original building itself. The antiquated brick walls were whitewashed in strategic places to show what was behind the new modern walls. The décor was the same mix of old baskets and wood with modern leathers and suede sofas. It was very charming and comfortable.

We have traveled through much of Canada, most of the U.S. states, including Hawaii, and have driven through all 31 states in Mexico because we’ve lived in Mexico during the winter months since 1998. And so, when our friends hear me say that we are going on our first trip off North American soil, their reactions have been: “What? Really? You have never traveled abroad before?” — with wide eyes showing disbelief. That fact is unbelievable, even to us.

Florida in September was warm and balmy, I discovered as we, my sister-in-law Alice and I, disembarked from the plane outside the terminal at Orlando. We were to meet our husbands, Marty and Carl, who had headed out on a 'manly' trip on their motorcycles two weeks prior from Colorado. We flew to meet and ride with them down to the point of the peninsula and camp along the way.