Is summer really gone?

feet

My sabbatical was not planned; it wasn’t intentional. As I boarded the flight that carried me to the land of tapas, I naively believed this summer would be different; that my beloved little beach town would finally have a reliable Internet connection. But alas, this was not so.

Time after time, I attempted to connect, only to lose my connection after only two seconds.

Don’t think I didn’t try, folks. I did. But in the end, I found it was easier to give in to the paella comas and the lull of the waves, than to harbor frustration and irritation.

Now, two and a half months later, I am once again in the place I call home. Sadly, it feels like it’s home that I’ve left behind.

Looking out the window, my eyes taking in the gray and gloomy clouds, I can’t but miss my beloved land of Don Quijote. My eyes tear at the thought of having to wait nine months before I am once again reunited with my mother and her furry friend, Olivia.

It’s barely been three weeks since I arrived, and already I yearn for the sun’s warm kiss on my skin and the tantalizing smell of salt in the air.

The sea. How I miss it! I miss its ability to lull me to sleep; waves gently making their way to the shore, peaks of white foam reaching up to the sky.

I miss the happy disposition of the Spanish and the courteous way they always greet one another with “¡Buenos Días!” or “¡Buenas noches!” Good morning! Good evening!

I miss the little bakery that serves the most delicious “cafe con leche.” I miss its colorful decor, the little rattan tables, and the group of people who gather there every morning for pleasant conversation.

I miss the music, the chatter, the noise.
I miss the passion of the people, the culture, the country.

I miss the fish, the paella, the wine.
Wine that regardless its cost, always tastes like ambrosia.

I miss the Spanish “telenovela” my mother and I watched faithfully every afternoon. I miss guessing which character would marry, die, or become a nun or a priest at the first sign of a lover’s betrayal.

I miss it all.

A heavy sigh lingers in my lungs, unwilling to escape my lips, afraid that if it does, the realization that all that has been left behind will become tangible. Concrete. Real.

Nevertheless, life goes on, my friends, and so must I. I’m grateful for the opportunity to reenter the blogosphere and once again become acquainted with your creative genius.

Reading glasses perched on my nose, I reach for my mouse.

old town 1

old town 2

old town 3

How did you spend your summer?

XOXO,

Note: If you want to see more photos of Spain, visit me on Instagram!

Return of the Speedo Part III

This morning, as I searched in my closet for something warmer than the cardigan I’ve been wearing to walk Roxy, I realized fall has arrived with a vengeance.

The warmer, sunnier days of summer have been substituted with the colder, damper, rain-filled days of autumn.

I sighed as I remembered past summer days spent frolicking on the beach, drinking ice cold sangria, and laughing at the silly things.

It was this nostalgia that prompted me to look through my photos and relive some of those memories.

And in so doing, I discovered I still haven’t done my traditional Speedo post.

Busily scrolling through the hundreds of photographs, I quickly selected a handful to share with you.

Why?

Because it matters not whether we cringe or whoop with delight, a Speedo post possesses the ability to make us smile.

Or giggle.

Or sigh.

Or wonder what the heck these men were thinking when they put them on.

Nevertheless, this year I’ve decided that I shall not bash the Speedo.

Instead, just for fun, I would like to encourage you to express your thoughts regarding this controversial strip of cloth.

You can do this by leaving a comment or voting in the poll found at the bottom of this post.

(Hopefully, both!)

And now, without further ado, I give you men in Speedos!

First up, the “retro” Speedo.
Some men believe wearing a Speedo is the best way to bring sexy back.
I call this one the “underwear” Speedo.
If you don’t have a Speedo you can always make one.
If you don’t want to sport a homemade Speedo, you can always turn yourself into a human net.
I have to admit this one made me wonder if not all homemade Speedos are bad.
Finally, no summer would be complete without the white Speedo.

What do you think of the Speedo?

Don’t forget to check back to see the results!

Happy Sunday, everyone!

Note: This post is written in a humorous vein.
For further explanation, please refer to the post titled, Should I label this post a disclaimer?

What shade of lipstick are you wearing?

The warm weather, light breeze, and clear skies today reminded Roxy and me of our days in Spain.

With the Significant Other gone to a car show, we were left with the option of staying home or hopping on a bus and taking to the nearest beach.

We chose the latter.

Sadly, we were ill prepared for the stifling heat inside a bus crammed with others hankering to take advantage of the last days of “summer” sun.

The forty-five minute bus ride quickly turned into what seemed an eternal ride into hell.

And I’m not just talking about the body heat generated by forty people slathered in sun tan oil.

I’m referring to our “seat buddy,” a young lady who initiated conversation with, “Oh my God, I like your lippy! What color is that?”

Disappointed with my quick reply of, “Vaseline,” our traveling companion thought it her life mission to instruct me on every, and folks, I mean every shade of red lipstick on the market.

Halfway through her oral presentation on the history of lipstick, she stopped and excitedly chirped, “What am I thinking? I better write down the names of these shades so you don’t forget them!”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that most days, my idea of lipstick means biting down on my lips a couple of times.

“Rimmel makes a beautiful shade called ‘Red Alert’ and it’s quite affordable.”

It was obvious that our new friend had observed Roxy’s threadbare leash and my faded shorts.

I found my eyes starting to close as she excitedly praised the staying power of Revlon’s “Kiss Me Coral 750.”

“And Body Shop also makes good lipsticks and they don’t do animal testing!”

Her sharp, high-pitched squeal made me sit upright and for the first time, I thought I heard Roxy growl.

Thankfully, as Roxy and I peered out the window, we caught sight of the sand dunes.

I slowly exhaled as I bid farewell to the bubbly lipstick lover.

Just as we were about to walk away, she shoved a paper in my hand.

“You really shouldn’t use Vaseline on your lips. It has petroleum jelly, you know. Don’t forget your list!”

Walking swiftly lest she follow us, Roxy and I headed for the dunes.

I stretched out my arms to greet the sun and inhaled deeply, eager to smell the salt in the air.

It wasn’t Spain, I wasn’t sipping a glass of vino, and Spanish men weren’t whispering, “Hola, guapa” (Hello, Beautiful), but we were staring at blue water and walking on sand.

Smiling as I curled my toes around the warm sand, I realized that today that was all that mattered.

When was the last time you went to the beach?

Note: Dear Readers, this was the post that was meant to be posted last Sunday.