My apartment

While I'm still playing catch up, here's another tidbit from my sketchbook. While in the airport flying back to Spain after a lovely Christmas visit back home, I was relishing in what I love about airports: time where you really cannot be doing much productive if you don't have wi-fi, so you have a platter full of time to think, read, write, enjoy some music, people watch, etc. After being at home in a comfortable, warm house for the few weeks, returning to an apartment with one working little wall heater, rain and tiny windows, I was having a hard time getting really excited about the change again (once back on the ground there, everything was fantastic, but getting the gumption to want to return was eating at me a bit). So I decided that maybe what I need/we all need sometimes in life is to just re-imagine things. The good thing is if we can somehow change these things after re-imagining. However, as a broke renter in an flat I would only be in for 6 more months, there wasn't much changing to be done. I decided the best thing I could do, was borrow from the example children give us of imagination. So I imagined my flat differently. I'd rather give you that picture of my time there (some is based on given realities, but most of it is the complete opposite of how it really was):

Let's start with the street level door: it's baby blue with a  spiral handle. It leads up a windy wooden staircase with a shabby chic like stain. We're at the very top of the platform. Our door is even better: it's quaint, quintessential, perfectly outfitted with a rusted, bent-over-time icon of Jesus that reminds me every time I enter, Ah, yes, I'm in España. Upon opening the door you step onto a deeply rich brown hardwood floor. Almost chocolatey. Smooth. In the entrance there is a grand mirror mounted on dark cherry stained wood with beckoning hooks saying, "Please señorita, hang your rain-soggy coat here." Our lovely landlord told us it was her grandparents' and that since that wall was the perfectly proportioned size for the piece, it won the bid. Gazing down the hallway the walls aren't new, but rather just the right kind of old--with character. They've been lived with, which gives them stories I'll never know. My room is on the right. My room door for some reason catches my intrigue when I take time to notice it. The paint has a slightly metallic shimmery radiance. It actually always brings to mind a fairy-like quality. Rowan, I wish you could see it. You could probably tell me one of your fairy names you're so good at creating to use to imagine who would live in my room if it did belong in fairy-world. My room is the perfect size. I cannot settle in a room that is too big because I do not feel cozy. Too small…well, we all know you can only go so small. My bed is an odd size--no problem, just interesting that Spain has an extra standard sized bed in between a single and double. My white, fresh comforter offers a toasty good night's sleep or siesta. The headboard has a delicate flower design. I'd love to meet the craftsman who humbly worked at his culture making via his woodworking to lovingly carve such delicate, common, yet curious little flora. My window is almost the length of the far wall with panels that longitudinally push open to greet the street below and mountains in the distance. And thankfully it has moss green shutters that function the same way--in the good European fashion from the movies. My armoire sits up on four very feminine legs that allude to the voluptuous armoire in Beaty and the Beast. My little desk sits on the left as you enter and faces a wall plastered with my clippings, findings, tokens of memory, inspiration and letters. It has the perfect little drawer to hold my pens, pencils, paper. My matching wooden chair has a seat with a basket woven quality that always calls to mind my parents' dining room chairs. The heater in the corner keeps the space so naturally warm feeling that I forget to tend to it. On the left side of the hall is the bathroom with its mediterranean blue tile floor, framed mirror, a free standing deep sink with an upside down umbrella handle faucet. The toilet and shower are up a slightly elevated step creating a more intimate space. The shower's tiled walls and newly added modern door is always a refreshing retreat. The hallway opens up to the living room where there is a lovely, colorful, but not too gaudy, tile floor with a simple, soft brown rug. The couch fits nicely on the left wall where its soft leather shines. The red blanket draped over the back is a treat for a slow Sunday morning. The walls are tinted a sweet light blue. The bookshelf opposite the couch is filled with a slue of Spanish classics and English books past renters left behind. A wall with books always feels more like home. The windows that make up the main wall frame a splendid view of the Río Barbariño and a newly constructed park on its banks. It still makes me smile to be so inland in lush green mountains yet still see palm trees out the window and hear the caw of seagulls always reminding me that I'm only a short journey from the coast…the edge of the earth. The kitchen, which has a flare that demands it to be called a cocina even in English, continues the tile floor and has granite counter tops. A modest white table with two simple chairs nuzzle up to the wall. The oven is always an adventure to figure out. The sink is deep and overtime you turn the hot water on the gas tank flames up with promises of instant hot water. The gas stove top is nice as it boils water for tea super fast. I think a tea is the first thing I'll have when I put my suitcase down. I never make coffee at home as there is not way to make it as good as the Spaniards, so I might as well just save that for the two to three I have out during the day. Mmm, Spanish coffee. That's enough right there to make me eager to get back.

Some pics to bring you back to reality:

Yep, our toilet was on a stage.