Tonight was the first night in my home for over a year. Some people say I have a melancholy personality. Others say I’m intuitive; others that I am quiet and reflective. Lately some people say I talk too much and am too loud (I tell them that’s not my fault; that’s because I lived in Madrid where everybody talks too loud and sometimes they talk all night.) All I can say is that his experience of moving into a house I loved wasn’t what I expected it would be when I left. All I could think of was how life has changed and nothing is permanent. Yes, the house looks fantastic. Yes, there is beautiful art work left by the family who stayed here a year. Yes, the house is a beautiful craftsman-style home in one of the most tranquil and wonderful places in the world. But all I could think of was that things have changed. I have changed (even if it’s for the better). My house has changed a little (even if it’s for the better.) Most importantly, two people I loved have moved (even if it’s for the better) and I suspect there may be more friends who have moved (and I just don’t know yet–and it may be for the better). I’ve seen very few of my friends yet….what if they have changed? Surely they have. Has it been for the better or for the worse? I don’t know but I’m sure it’s a bit of both. And my mind is still in Madrid.

The hot nights that were so uncomfortable a year ago now seem wonderful. I would love to be able to walk around at 12 in a t-shirt and see the city alive. It will be another year before I can experience that. I can’t walk down to the first floor of my building and see Bruno, the fruit seller, and taste his wonderful fruit, try to decipher his Extremaduran accent or see his big smile. I can’t walk to the carniceria that just opened and chat with the owner about the many varities of jamon iberico and impress him with my knowledge of the topic. I can’t walk down to the locutorio that just opened and meet wonderful immigrants from all over the world (Spain is becoming like a mini California and you can meet people from everywhere!). I can’t walk two blocks to the immigrant neighborhood where the people are alive and playing soccer and enjoying the many parks in their neighborhood. I can’t see the wild parrots flying around the park or the olive tree in the middle of the “castrosena” block two minutes away. I can’t visit Loquaz and buy today’s El Pais and talk with the well-read owner. I can’t buy fresh bread from the friendly bakery couple a block away. And yes, I will even miss the graffiti. At first I hated it; then I tolerated it; then I began to appreciate it and realize that it was a healthy outlet for the 20 percent of youth who are unemployed. Some of it is so good it could go in the Reina Sofia. I also can’t spy on the little parakeets in the windows of the castrosena block or study their laundry hanging from the lines and guess what they did last night. I can’t hop on the metro two blocks away and be in the center of a big, vibrant city. I can’t walk out my door and instantly speak Spanish with people in the street (I learned that if someone is over 70, there’s a 90 percent chance they will talk with you. If they are below 70 the chances go down dramatically. If you reach age 3 or 4, then your chances are almost 100 percent and you have the best conversations of all.)

I know there are good things here, but change and transition is always hard. And actually the good things here are amazing. When you move back to an old place it becomes new again. Now I want to make my sailing passion official and become a member of the most beautiful yacht club in the Bay Area (surprise: it’s actually not too expensive!). Now I want to visit my lovely parents everyday and talk walks on their beautiful bike path and get to know the nice people in my hometown. Now I want to live right next to the water (because we had no waterway to speak of in Madrid). I am melancholy but also joyful. I appreciate nature more than ever and can’t get enough of it. I am so crazy about nature I’ve taken to sending people bunches of flowers in the mail. I would love to open a tapas restaurant and I have even set up a pretend bar in my house…but it’s still just a dream. For now, I can just dream and write and I can share haiku. My response to living in Spain was haiku. I published a book full of haiku about my year. Now I return to haiku to cope with the transition.

But I’ve digressed…Here’s a haiku I wrote a year ago as I was contemplating leaving Berkeley and mourning the loss of my Spanish conversation class in Berkeley. I knew that would never be the same and it isn’t. The group still meets off and on (I think) but our teacher is gone. And I’m not sure the group would be good for me either, now that my Spanish is a little better. I’m investigating other conversation groups but I’ll never forget the wonderful times we had meeting in Berkeley. Our group of 5 strangers who met randomly became more like a group of friends who just happened to be practicing Spanish. Isn’t that how all groups of this type should end up becoming? The most wonderful feeling in the world (for me) is to meet a stranger and discover I have a wonderful connection with this person. I may or may not see them again. Perhaps that ‘s why Jesus had so many wonderful talks as an itinerant teacher. His ministry was entirely mobile, meeting new people and even healing some. His life ended tragically but he really enjoyed it while it lasted. If I were God I would have picked living next to the beautiful sea of Galilee and wandering around meeting people too. I guess a wandering blog writer can approach that lifestyle. Now if I can convince people to wash my dusty feet when I arrive somewhere I’ll really have it made. I can get a free footwashing and meet some great people. Jesus even figured out that if he lived as an itinerant he could get free meals. People underestimate Jesus. Only God could come up with such a great plan.

I’ve digressed again (oops, that’s why blogs are so great!)

The haiku:

autumn: dead leaves fall,
helicopter blades cut
the air above campus

a protester sits
in a tree waiting,
hoping time will stop

doesn’t he know?:
anger can’t stop time
only words can slow it down

bright talks illuminate winter days

here we line up
beautiful words, palabras bonitas
along a smooth mahogany table

sometimes we recall
old protests, when streets were filled
with speeches, leaving echoes

sometimes we share
stories —  nunca terminado

Postscript: I have a fantastic photo that goes with all this but since I am technically incompetent I have no clue why this program won’t let me upload my own photos! I wish I were Benjamin Franklin and had my own typesetting shop. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with this terrible technology stuff and people could still read my writing. I did just figure out the spell checker feature here, but since it’s a computer half the time it’s wrong. Humans are just better, let’s face it.