Hey Mr. Heinz, I like the stuff of your ketchup

A good buddy of mine once told me, if you begin to blog, events in your life will become judged on their worthiness to be made known to others. Soon this evaluation of "worthiness" had a call name for rapid identification, like a trucker ambling down I-65 responding only to "Chili Dog" through the tones of a see bee radio. Cullen and his friends began to exclaim events in their life as "blog worthy". As to be expected "blog worthy" transitioned to an acronym. "BW" meaning "that is blog worthy". To make acronym status is a powerful thing; two letters stand for much more than even the words they represent. With this in the bag and jostling around in the spaces of my mind I stroll through daily life here in Sevilla.

The "BW" acronym has had a party with my life this week in Spain. The weekend met me with a flurry of discotecas, nice meals, and great times with friends, both new and old. Rob Clayton, a good buddy of mine and brother in Christ from Clemson and I reveled at our present places in life; being in the same city for awhile is a welcome change in our friendship. I am so thankful he is here (Here’s to you Shred). We rocked a discoteca with mutual friends and met some wonderful Spanish people. A few hours later I found myself jumping up and down, like a small child on a trampoline, arm and arm with Spaniards chanting a song in a tongue not my own. No coincidence the discoteca is called the “Fun Club” (prounounced: fOOn KLUb), and as Scott says, “fOOn KLUb was fun”. We need to figure out if the club has members or not. As we walked home that night we struck up several sappy American songs in the streets of Spain. Ryan Seacrest would have been proud of our Destiny’s Child performance and even the ever stingy Paul Simon would have loved JD’s stirring solo.

Smaller stories seem to be knitting together easily, creating a tale much bigger than they could ever be alone. It is these smallest of happenings that give joy to my life in Sevilla. A host of oranges showered my friend, Scott and I, as we walked home from class. Falling from aloft towards our feet like the bombs of a B-52 squadron. I also found a bit of good karma and received a surprise of sorts from a Spanish lady. The surprise was a cerveza or “beer”, not just any paltry beer but Cruz Campo, the water of a dehydrated Sevilla. She had spilled her groceries and I gave a hand. That hand got a free beer but more importantly a good laugh from a small and simple moment. Spanish intensive classes began this week and I have thoroughly enjoyed them. Being in Spain has found my speaking skills lacking and I relish at the opportunity to learn more and improve with the time I am given here. Our maestro, Luis Recio, is a colorful, kind, middle aged man, who is quite possible the best teacher I have had to this day. Our homework on Wednesday was a “street assignment”, in which we were given the task to walk the street by the Puerta de Jerez, a beautiful fountain and plaza, and strike up conversations with real Sevillanos. I felt like a little tater tot waiting, on the bus, for his first day of kindergarten class. However, with the mantra, “When in Spain” playing on my internal sound system my assignment partner Mark and I marched into the unknown. An intimidating, nerve filled, awesome hour of broken Spanish, really nice people, and laughter.

The people here are keen on walks or "los cambios". Like Americans, the day after turkey, they parade the streets with admirable consistency. However, unlike the red, white, and the blue, Spaniards all too often have no "purpose" in mind as their shoes step side by side through the cobble stone streets. By "purpose" it is meant that there exists no means to an end here in Spain. Two gentlemen will walk with each other, worn hands folded comfortably behind their dapper backs, for the higher purpose of having no means to an end with one another. A task should be carried to enjoy the process of getting to the end. More times than not the journey well enjoyed makes a better ending. For example, one could live a life marked with a great deal of haste to experience “everything” and in their perpetual “go” mode miss the tiny things that make life worth living. The walk I speak of is a selfless walk, to your friend, and your true self. How many times have you let yourself stroll awhile with only the course of conversation present to call things to a close? No deadlines, no other plans, just you, where you are, a walk with the other person in mind. No "purpose" other than the beautiful purpose of enjoying one anothers' company and living in the present (something that really is much more difficult than perceived). "Living in the present" is fitting for a bumper sticker on the rear window of a jaded 98 Subaru and nice to throw out in bar conversations but I wonder how many people really understand the notion. I have a sincere feeling the people here in Spain have their hands grasped softly around the idea.

(I already have the next part written, as the piece is intended to be viewed and read as a whole, i thought a little "installment" approach might help you read things and not overwhelm you. Dumas wrote installments so why not me. Credit mister stark for the idea)

"Don't Fight It"

"We are all part of the story"
-Scott Rick, University of Wisconsin