Quiet! Very. Why no word for, gosh, over three weeks? Because we’ve been in Spain! Our family tries to fly across the pond every few years, and my Spanish-teacher wife had never been to Spain. Travesty!
We returned on Saturday night, with many stories, pictures, and no luggage. All of that’s coming soon, but at the moment I’m in no condition to do much more than drool. I will, however, leave you with one of the best memories of our trip.
We drove north from Nerja during our first week for an overnight jaunt to Seville. The evening we arrived was very stressful, for reasons I shan’t explain, save to say that I and my father-in-law did something very stupid, very avoidable, and could easily have ruined the entire trip. It didn’t, but we didn’t know that at the time.
We stayed in a hotel in Sanlucar la Mayor, a small town outside of Seville. We drove down the road, searching for tapas to ease our pain, and found a small courtyard surrounded by cafes and heladerias. In the middle of the courtyard was a playground covered by dozens of children. Ian was on a two-week trip to Spain with his parents and grandparents, and nary a friend in sight.
When we’d finished our Coke Lites and tuna specials, Ian ran to play. Evenings in Spain are soothing. As the light fades, everyone finds their way to the streets and cafes to talk and walk and relax.
We watched Ian from a distance as he did his best to join the fun. Kids don’t need a common language, but it helps when you’re playing tag. He found a group of boys with a ball, and went from there.
As we were leaving, Ian ran to Kelly. ‘Mommy! How do you say ‘goodbye’?’ Ian ran back to one of the boys, waving his hand high in the air. He stopped and shouted, ‘Adios!’
And that, friends, is my son.