TD/HBI 4

I'm back from the little break. Sorry, but I've needed some time for blog silence. Now, though, I've realized that I need to post an idea.

Here's the thing: I turn 30 next year. That thought isn't inherently terrifying, but as I've just spent the last weekend with my Grandparents, I'm somewhat more motivated to live aggressively, to try to continue to engage in experiences that will leave indelible memories. Grandma is, sadly, getting worse for wear and likely doesn't have much time left. My Grandfather is in fine health for a man in his late 70's, but his proximity to visible demise is impossible to ignore, and this has a saturating effect on my perception of Grandpa Don.

These weekends we've taken at the farm have served a multitude of purpose, though at the top of my list is a chance to try to support Grandpa. Superficially silly, I go to cut the grass. There are something like 70 acres of lawn in central Missouri that Don Arth fights, tooth and nail, for each upward inch. Even with a riding lawnmower possessing a wide cutting deck, this takes hours. I know that part of my Grandfather needs consistent chores to stay busy, likely it's actually good for his health. At the minimum, a general bookmark. Also, though, I know that sitting for a day in a riding lawnmower, in the blazing July sun, gets lame. I can help him for a few hours, and even if it's largely symbolic, I want him to see me covered in grass clippings and sweat.

I also go out for my mom, who, in spite of a very reasoned understanding of the physics and inevitability of mortality, is still watching her mother die. Four plane flights, two rental cars, and several trips to the grocery store later, and she is at the farm with her own children. We're rarely in the same place for an entire weekend, and this gives us at least the chance to maintain a connection.

During my entire youth, the farm came to symbolize the connection with my maternal family. The cog of this wheel was my Grandfather, and to a lesser extent my Grandmother, so it is in their fading that new core relationships take on an added importance. My cousin Michael was there. He's a young man who is well spoken, interesting, and charming. My sisters were out there. I had a chance to sit and talk with Reilly, and enjoy a cool Gin & Tonic with Megan. These interactions don't necessarily make or guarantee some future connection, but they greatly facilitate its possible existence.

And it's through that lens of mortality that I've taken a keener interest in my coming birthday. It's not scientifically or physically that important, but 30 is a nice round number that has some cultural significance. Much more adult, much more advanced, that much greater through the ratio of time remaining.

And so I don't want to waste that time.

* * * *

While I was in Yosemite with Josh, he and I batted about the idea of a bike trip through Northeastern Spain. We could visit incredible climbing areas and have an amazing, irreplaceable cultural experience in addition. The bike would allow for slow paced travel. It would take the rider to small villages, and keep the adventure going. Much of the accommodation could be done on the cheap, and the time, if the rider wills its sacrifice, could stretch much longer than a "lavish" two weeks. For me, the idea took on added allure because of my desire to return to the country where I studied abroad, and reintegrate with a language I'm worried is slipping away. Josh was more enchanted with Southern France, where's he'd be linguistically more familiar.

The style of seeing Spain is a chance to reignite a fire fueled by adventure and unknown, and also a springboard into a new time and stage in my life. I've said for a while that I don't necessarily want to become dependent on my job for identity, and that a more diverse career is attractive. I'd like to think that I can save, between now and next July or August, sufficient money to take a three-six month trip to Europe. Then, I can set sail and see where I end up. I would like to diligently write the story, and turn the tale into more than just one blog posting.

The Salathe blogpost was the best I'd written on Abaluba, largely because there was, by far, the greatest wealth of material from which to draw. Burning Man is at the end of August, and I expect that will provide another rich group of stories. But to me, the prospect of combining a bike, Spain, and a rock climbing adventure is too beautiful and inspirational.

The seed has been planted. Perhaps I'll find sufficient sun and rain to let this grow. Let's hope.

Viva España

Spain won the World Cup today in a game that nearly gave me a heart attack. It was a bit tough for me to cheer for so many Barcelona players wearing the Castillian crest on their shirts, but thankfully Iker Casillas, Real Madrid's goal keeper, saved the game with two incredible stops before Andres Iniesta rocked home a goal deep in extra time.

I hadn't washed my navy blue Spain jersey since the team beat Portugal in the round of 16. I can finally clean that poor shirt, and might be on the prowl for another piece of team wear. Specifically, I'm thinking about one that has the world champion star over the national team embroidery. Might have to go with a red one.

Watching the game at a bar in Boulder, I started thinking about the year I spent over in Madrid. The memory of all the close friends I made in that wonderful city flooded back, and as I raised my hands in celebration of the winning goal, I was right back in La Pedriza with Matt, Tom, and Neil.

Seeing Spanish fans packed into the Plaza de Colon for the game, screaming their hopes at the enormous television screens set up for public viewing, brought me back. The streets of Moncloa rang with my footsteps as I paraded between bars with Vino and Nicole. Late nights on The Metro, our apartment above the Hotel Melia, and Pilar's place above Blended.

None of that is going to mean much unless you've been to those same places. Even then, they might not have the same weight. Living in Spain for me was such a turning point. So many good memories are rooted in Iberia, and the game brought so many of them back. Viva España!