Semana Santa

It's almost April.

I suppose it's customary to now exclaim with a slap of my knee and eyes wide with surprise how "I can't believe it's almost April!"...but I find myself too tired to thus express myself at the moment, and in fact have felt the coming of the Spring shifting and trying to sit comfortably on my shoulders for some time now. While of course the coming of the flowers, warm temperatures and extra sunshine excites anticipation in all of us at this time of year, this new season invariably introduces the age-old question for us young people of "And now what?" With such a weighty interrogatory looming behind every buttercup nodding in the soft breeze, therefore, I approach this new season with a degree of hesitant expectation.

Perhaps you are curious to know the answer to such a demanding question? Likewise am I. Unfortunately at this time I have nothing satisfactory to proffer, save a few yet-to-be-pursued ideas most certainly lacking in Spanish pupils and grammar supplements.

I have had the opportunity to rest from the aforementioned duties for a bit, as this week is the Semana Santa, or Holy Week, in Spain. Cate, her friend Ellen, and I traveled down to Granada and Sevilla for the first 3 days of the week, which places are said to be the prime locations for the week's events. Every night beginning around 9, streets are lined with spectators munching on baked potatoes or the traditional "Torrijas," essentially a honey saturated French Toast, eagerly awaiting the various processions to pass through. While each procession represents a certain facet or stage of the Holy Week, to this foreign, American eye, the essence of these night long productions is lots of men in purple, red, or black KKK outfits holding candles or supporting massive silver-plated platforms, topped off with weeping Mary's and crucifixes. Followed by a Spanish brass marching band and resounding percussion, all combines for quite a spectacular production, varying in degrees of enjoyment, depending on one's taste for religious statues and hooded men.

The last two or three weeks have been marked by the delightful visits of Maria from Sweden and Dave and Hillary from my very own Memphis, Tennessee. It's been wonderful to have my various worlds collide and see family, along with passing nearly all of March so quickly that...do I dare say it?

I surrender. I can hardly believe it's almost April...