Who’s ready to take the first step?

cafe con leche

My father used to say that intent wasn’t the same as getting things done.

Intentions are actions placed on pause; projections of what’s to come. They are not the same as those actions that are actually executed.

My lack of execution is all I could think about this morning.

You see friends, before I left home, I had every intention of publishing a post where I would inform you that I was on my way to Spain.

I had every intention of taking pictures of Roxy at the airport.

I had every intention of donning a disguise and setting off in search of Javier Bardem the minute I landed.

I had every intention of writing a whimsical post that would describe the hot Spanish sun and the blue-green hue of the Mediterranean Sea.

I had every intention.

But alas, such has not been the case.

On the day Roxy and I were supposed to fly, after waiting for more than five hours, we were informed that our flight had been canceled.

It appeared that the good French air traffic controllers had chosen that very day to go on strike.

Two days later, we again made the journey to the airport, and this time , while we were successful, we were surrounded by grumpy and irritated people who could only talk about the inconveniences they had sustained.

Perhaps it was the absorption of the negative energy that surrounded us or the cramped seat that did not allow for any leg room, what was responsible for putting me in a funk.

Yet the truth is that in a funk I have been for the past four days.

This morning, as I sat drinking my third cup of cafe con leche, patiently listening to my mother’s banter, I saw a man on the street below.

He must have been around 90 years of age.

He walked slowly but with purpose.
Carefully, he pushed his walker and dragged his left foot which desperately tried to keep pace with the one on the right. After taking only five steps, he stopped to wipe his brow with a handkerchief. He then paused for ten seconds before continuing on his way.

I watched him until he reached the end of the street.

Looking at the clock, I realized it had taken him twenty minutes to walk less than 200 yards.

A countless number of steps, 12 pauses, and three brow wipes later, he had made it to the end of the street.

As he turned the corner, I hung my head in shame.

Not merely intent, but execution, was what the elderly gent had accomplished on this warm Wednesday morning.

I was humbled.

Here I was, just four days into my vacation, sitting on the terrace complaining about my inability to walk the same way I had walked last summer.

Yes, I had every intention of attempting to regain my gait, of going from point A to B, yet here I sat, hosting my own pity party with only my mother in attendance.

Every great journey begins with the first step.

The old adage seemed to perfectly describe what the old man had started and I had yet to begin.

Feeling inspired, I donned a pair of old sneakers, my sunglasses, and a sun hat.

“Mamma,”I said, “grab your hat. Our search for Javier Bardem begins today!”

Pain be damned.

One way or another, one step at a time, I am determined to be reacquainted with my old self, to mimic the actions of the old man and reach the finish line.

I am determined to not allow excuses and self pity stand in the way of reaching my goal.

I smile to myself as I take the first step.

Do your actions stay at intent or do you get things done?

Reporting from sunny Spain,

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.

What have Roxy and I been up to in the past 48 hours?

Hello everybody!

It’s been a little over 48 hours since Roxy and I made it to Spain.

In this time, I’ve discovered Wifi only works occasionally.

Hence, I’ve had to pray for a miracle in order to get a connection and upload photos.

I hope you will bear with me while I regain my “Spain” legs so I can saunter to the village and visit the public library.

Hopefully, this will allow me to post and catch up with your blogs.

In the meantime, these photos will give you an idea of what Roxy and I have been up to.

Have a great weekend!

I’ve had copious amount of “cafe con leche.”
Roxy met Olivia for the first time.
I’ve had “cafe con tostadas,” at my favorite bakery.
Roxy’s tried to talk Olivia out of participating in “siesta.”

What have you been up to in the last 48 hours?