How to Open the Sesame

If you’d like the password for what lies below (and shall be forthcoming) leave a comment here and I’ll hook you up. You can also email me…er… if you know that address. Please note that I’m not trying to be a witholding bitch, nor do I presume anybody’ll even give a rat’s ass about my only slightly sordid life, I’m simply trying to protect identities a tiny little bit and not spread my (and others’) bid’ness up and over the many crevasses of the interwebs. (:

So yes. Comment. If I like you, you can haz password. (:

Protected: How it began, or, Preamble: The Universe Throws Caitlin a Romantic Bone

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You Can, in fact, go home again

It struck me then that I’d be leaving behind someone I love for the rest of my life. Being the woman I am, with the ambitions that I have, with the dreams I mean to pursue, I probably will not stay in any one place for the rest of my life. Being the woman I am, I also know that I’ll always be crying as I go.

* * *

That sappy little jewel is dated September the 2nd, 2007—the day I left for Madrid for the first time. As my plane took off from Barajas just three days ago [whoops! started this entry on Wednesday and have obviously yet to finish it. Happy Sunday, kids!], a memory of this sentiment echoed through my head in a melodramatic, movie-flashback kind of way, inspiring me to riffle through the pages of my Moleskine (already out and prepared to be imbued with my most recent travel-maundering) to find it. More than a year later on a plane bound for the opposing shore, I found the same words still poignant and true.

My past week’s trip to Madrid was one of those experiences that, suffice it to say, was too good, too cognitively and emotionally thick, too replete with a ridiculous amount of rest and rejuvenation and meaning—simply too exactly everything I needed—for me to explain it well or thoroughly here. On the most physical, active of planes, it involved a lot of coffee and a lot of time alone to write, to think and to come back to the middle. It included reunions with Morgan, Rachel, Amber and David and visiting my sweet 3rd grade class from last year. While at Ramiro I also got to see Paul and Meredith, who still work there, along with Belén, one of the coolest teachers I met during my time as a Fulbrighter. The week involved checking in with my heart and my head and figuring out where in the world I’ve been for the past six months, not to mention realizing I’ve gotten very lost over the span of the past two years. It included taking a small chance and reclaiming an opportunity on which I never, ever should have missed out. It involved letting myself be a little impulsive, a little vulnerable, and, well… a little naked…in more ways than two. (; It involved Galician cheese and multiple cañas, episodes of 30 Rock with Morgan, and catharsis. It also involved a fair amount of shopping, being as it’s rebajas time in Madrid and beautiful things are a glorious 70% off. The number of scarves now in my ownership is absolutely repugnant.

So, the trip was good. I mean… it was beyond good. I know that that can’t mean much to you, but do understand, dear reader, that it means the world to me. The trip’s very goodness is probably why I find it so difficult to explain. Instead of an attempt at any further paragraph-form explanation or elaboration, here are a few highlights:

• Running in the sunshine through Retiro Park–Me! Running! Really! For miles! THREE TIMES!
• Teaching Morgan’s wonderful roommate, Fran, some choice slang, such as to “bang,” to “rail,” and to “bump.” Further, learnin’ him real good about Dirty Sanchez, blumpkins and a passel of other rather grotesque shiz that would inspire my dear Ms. Austen to roll over in her early grave.
• Baking 50 cupcakes and a carrot cake for Morgan’s 24th birthday party
• Finally, after having lived in Madrid for a year and visiting Pepe Botella countless times, scoring a window seat by which to watch the gloaming. Sipping coffee there. Mulling. Writing.
• Being largely over my fear of sounding stupid in Spanish and just diving comfortably in, incorrect subjunctive and all
• Subsequently being mistaken for a madrileña by a number of sales clerks! It’s amazing how much more easily banter comes when one forcibly ceases to be nervous.
• Afternoon coffee and dishing with Rachel (something that ought to have happened a lot more often last year! Something that may happen more often again?)
• Eating a big, hearty foccaccia sandwich from Pizzaiolo, seated in a sliver of sunlight on a stone bench in a Plaza I love, which is somewhere off of Fuencarral but whose name I’ll never know
• Reconnecting with Ali, whose visit to Spain happened to overlap with mine for a single night of vermouth on the tap at Bar Automático and drinks on Huertas with David and Ali’s friend Christian
• Feeling my heart swell forth again. Feeling excited about life again. Feeling excited about the future again.
• For that matter: feeling.
• Realizing that home is with the people I love, and that I am both blessed and cursed to have homes on more than one continent.

There is so much more I could say. I could tell you how I feel more myself in Spain, or that I love my new hair cut (photograph below!). I suppose it’s worth reporting that I adore the people I left there (the ones I already mentioned, and I’m sure a few I didn’t). The most important thing I have to say after this trip, though, is that I’m okay. I’m more okay, in fact, than I’ve been in months, or maybe even years. I feel like I better understand how my future should unfold now–or at least that I’m nearing some sort of resolution–and how my past has been shaping it for years without my acknowledging it. Funny how life works like that.

And so, all is well in Caitlin land. Here are some pictures. There may be more stories later. For now, I’m catching to my chest the glistening gems of my days in Spain and letting their light reflect onto me. If we run into one another on the street, I’ll be the tall white girl with the sassy hair cut and the far away look, smiling and mumbling to herself in Spanish.

Dusk falls over Plaza de Malasaña (from my window seat in Pepe Botella)

Bar in Pepe Botella, my favorite Madrid café

My former Fulbright girls, (Rachel, Morgan and Me, L-R) now smartly making their lives in Madrid.

Dear Adrian cut off...well... kind of an awesome lot of hair. (:

Holy good vittles! Here is just one of three Galician feasts!

Another event most miraculous did occur over my last weekend in Madrid–a little romantic vignette about which a choice few of you know. I, because I like to keep my memories in written form (especially when they’re this outrageously swell!), will be penning it here sometime in the next week. It’ll be password protected, so if you’d like to read it, you’ll have to comment and ask for the magic words. Be forewarned, however, that if you are not the type to occasionally enjoy a well-crafted romance or a good instance of cinematic happenstance, steer clear–you will gag. (;

Ringing it in and sucking out the marrow

Stop. Think fast–when was the last time you entered a room populated by 15 strangers and, 10 hours later, exited that same space with 15 friends? You can’t remember, can you? In fact, has such a thing ever occurred, on such a large scale?  Can such a thing happen? Can you really, truly, like every new person you meet? Well, I’m here to report that, yes, it can happen, and I was the unlikely recipient of such a phenomenon on New Year’s Eve. Two days later, I’m still giddily buzzed and pleasantly baffled.

Despite the snow storm, I boarded a Greyhound bus and hauled my ass up to Boston to attend a New Year’s Eve party about which I knew nothing save that Kolie had invited me, and that I ought to go. It turns out that said party was of all things–thank you, joyous happenstance!–a sushi party, and with some of the most excellent good folks I’ve met in a very, very long time. There was copious booze, good people, and a terrifying 10.5 inch rubber dildo that ended up pegged to the foreheads of some of the men present, appeared in photo ops, and was nestled attractively in the lap of various attendees. But more importantly than sex toys and antics and the 5 or so G&Ts I downed, the people–Kolie’s friends–were splendid. I spent much of the wee hours of the morning alternately sitting on the stairs in the loft with two lovely people named Whitney and Matt and taking photos of Kolie’s noisily slumbering friend, Aaron, in various compromising positions with aforementioned Kong Dong. Awesome.

As always, it was wonderful to see Kolie and to finally meet the lovely Aneliya who, I’m delighted to report, is without contest his best other half yet. The night also entailed a happy reunion with Colin, who met me at the Starbucks on the corner of Mass and Prospect shortly after I discovered a very soggy $20 on the ground. Poor Colin came through the door of the coffee shop to behold a verly likely wild-eyed me, grinning and brandishing a soaking wet bill, exclaiming something like “I NEVER find money! But I just found money!” Obviously, the good night started early.

All in all, the evening was exponentially more wonderful than I’d bargained for, and I’m deeply grateful to have met so many good people at once. The only downside is that now I’m left wishing I lived nearer to Cambridge so I might have the opportunity to see these folks with more frequency. Oooh–also, I should mention that the night DID have a sole mishap in which I, clumsy as ever, kicked a yoga ball back in the direction of the host, Matt, who had chosen that unfortunate moment to sip his drink. There was blood, and then a flurry of glass cleaning from yours truly and four or so others, and now Matt is down 1/5 of a tooth or so. I cannot remember the last time I was so mortified, but to Matt’s credit, he took it forgivingly and extremely gracefully. Eventually, his gentlemanliness helped me feel approximately 12% less like dying.

I arrived home on New Year’s day at around noon, not having been asleep since 8:30 the day before. After sleeping it off and awakening to a horrible Friday morning migraine and what I thought was a ravaging cold (but was really simply having left the heat on too high and being dehydrated and migrainey), I puttered around, caught up with the momma, and listened to a lot of Postal Service. Last night I went out with Irene and talked about men, about hearts, about growing up and how things never really get easier, but one does get more deft and able to smilingly navigate the dust devils.

Not simply because of this party, but because of the intensely social week I’ve had–probably the most social week I’ve had since early senior year of college–I’ve realized that I’m exponentially happier than I’ve been in–dare I say it?–years. I have incredible friends, and having seen Kolie again, I’m left to consider how lucky I am to not only have acquired new friends, but to have all of the old, familiar friends I do, people who know every facet of me and love me for every one of them–less sparkly and lightly chipped ones included. I’m surrounded by more love than I have any business dreaming I’d deserve, and I am happy, humble, and grateful.

There’s also the fact that I have a future of some sort that’s hurtling toward me at what I’m sure will be a shocking pace when it finally arrives in the form of letters and seals. As if that weren’t enough, at this time next week I’ll be in Madrid, hugging Morgan and Rachel, making plans to visit my classroom of Spanish kiddlies, drinking vermouth with David, getting a much-needed Spanish haircut from (I hope!) Adrian, and sipping café con leche in Pepe Botella by the golden light of Spanish afternoon sun. There’s also a very good chance that I’ll be very, very jet lagged, but we won’t talk about that for now

‘Til then, my only task is to be as useful and awesome as I can at work, try to stop listening to Mirah’s “Be Still My Heart” on repeat, hit the gym hard in efforts to run off the ridiculous amount of Christmas cookie and holiday cooking I’ve ingested over the course of the past two months or so, and start reading/editing Peter’s novel, as I promised I would more than a month ago.

Life is so good. Happy 2009, everyone, and thank you for being there.