far too much writing, far too many photos

Goddamn, once more I wake up on a Friday morning with no clue where the rest of the week skipped off to. I have been drifting through time. Not that I’m complaining. It is outrageously, possibly even criminally beautiful here, and I’m pleased to be in the middle of it all, days skipping by at light speed and all.

Light speed or not, I have been in production mode, getting done piles of things that need doing. The difference between my existence in a rented flat in Madrid and the life of a homeowner here is, well, there I actually have free time because I don’t have to work on the place. Here I do, and any time I get the impulse to do some work, there’s work waiting to be done.

The last few days: rain or gray skies w/ intense humidity, broken up now and then by short, sudden spells of brilliant sunshine. Days during which the thirsty earth got a good, deep soaking.

I ate my first home-grown tomatoes of the season last night. Or the night before. One of the two. I’d forgotten how nice it is to be able to step out the door and pick your own. Orange tomatoes, though, instead of red. Weird. Tasty, but weird.

Speaking of food: I did not slip into the potential take-out dinner binge I mentioned at the end of this journal’s last entry. Too much going on. I realized something about the woman who runs the cafĂ©, though. When I picked up that first meal, she and I stood chatting about N.Y. and Madrid for a while. She’s a woman of a certain, classic look, a look I know from N.Y.C. and the N.Y.C. area — short, pretty, Jewish, intelligent, with a lively personality, black hair, a certain kind of cast to her features. As we talked, something about her rang a bell somewhere up there in my teeny brain, but I couldn’t put a finger on why. Later it hit me — something about her reminded me one of my oldest friends, a woman I know from college. Not her voice, not her manner, not her body or bearing, not her hair, not her clothes, not her voice.

Her face. Only her face. But the facial resemblance was so strong it was eerie. Hence the bells.

Right. Tomorrow I drive down to New Hampshire to spend the day with friends. But before I go: the following are actual search requests made via Google and its brethren (or sistern) that have led people to this page during the last couple of weeks (if these are any indication, there are some strange folk passing through the neighborhood):

skimpy tight dress

pignose spain

satanic souls defaced websites

second toe longer than the big toe

female pee desperation

group diaper changing

helen hunt dryer picture

transvestite ADVERTISING

soda floats beer sinks

stocky guys in tight shorts

bulemic blowout game

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