Back in Málaga. On Sunday I drove to Madrid with Daniela and Noah, got Daniela settled in the Residencia, where she'll be for the next two weeks, and took Noah to the airport Monday morning for his flight back to the US. Asun will rejoin me this weekend.Walking with Waldo yesterday morning I found myself thinking that our brains are programmed to work narratively. I don't think we can avoid it. Is this the price of consciousness? Or its reward? Maybe it's the nature of time itself. As a friend said last night, the awful thing about time is that it passes. Of course. Maybe that's one of the functions of sleep: it gives us the illusion of time stopping. A breather. I pray a lot for a good ending. But, as they say, watch out what you pray for: how am I going to react if I go to the doctor, he listens to my heart and concludes, "you've got thirty days."? As Robin would say, "Holy Time Bomb, Batman!" This is our grand challenge, no? Dying with grace, not being overcome by fear. Better work on those things we want to be a part of the narrative. We have X amount of time. I try to stay aware of that, but not paralyzed by it: spend it well. Last night, for example, Danny, Julián, Antonio, María del Mar and I started "planning" our 2010 transcontinental tour USA. This will certainly be grand fun. July, 2010. In the photo, an espeto of sardines. Is it wrong to interrupt their narrative? (Cristina, what do you think?)
