Tagspain

Madrid Day 3 – Life Is Art

M

  Standing in front of Picasso’s Guernica at Reina Sofia, I became a different person. And I don’t mean that in some cheeky, self-indulgent way. I mean it in the truest sense of the word. This change was not subtle. It was startling. I have never been a lover of modern art. With its seemingly simple brush strokes, violent streaks of color, deformed faces, stick figures, and incongruent...

We were together, and this was just a part of our life…

W

We were sitting in a cafe last night about 11 pm having a little pastry before bed (because in Madrid you can do that, and because when you’re on vacation, calorie counting is sacrilege) and my daughter asked me what the most memorable part of the day had been for me. I had to think about it. I’d had very little sleep in the last 48 hours so my brain felt fuzzy and even the sugar...

Day 1 Madrid – My Own Year Of Magical Thinking

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And so it begins. My own year of magical thinking. Not exactly like Joan Didion’s memoir, but yes, grief is a part of it. I don’t think you ever get to the middle of any story worth reading without encountering some degree of conflict, some measure of pain, some leggy seedlings of wistful regret. But this isn’t a time for nurturing regrets. It’s a time for putting the past...

What’s New?

W

I have to admit. I laughed at this one. Out loud. And then I cried a little. On the inside. And then I smiled when I realized life is kinda like that. Anne Lamott talks about writing shitty first drafts in her book “Bird By Bird”. It’s one of the things that gives me the courage to keep writing. Not worrying that anyone will necessarily read that first bit of dribble, but rather...

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