Watching the inauguration last night brought on dreams of hope: for articulate, thoughtful leadership and a return to chic individuality. I could not get Michelle's marvelous outfit out of my mind, and was brought back to the years of Jackie O, when, as a kid, I first learned to love pink. Color is in, folks, in every sense, and I'm thrilled by it. Our small TV in the room just bloomed with color: citron on Michelle, fire engine red on Jill, ultramarine on Hillary. I feel I can breath again.
Locally, we woke up this morning headed to Reus, for banking and such, only to see our friend Fredi's car smashed to bits at the entrance to town. So shocking a sight it was that I was thrown in to a foul mood the entire trip to Reus, making our stop at the Carrefours (Spain's Costco) more nightmarish than usual. Beautiful town,(Reus), the birthplace of Gaudi. The sun was shining, though the wind blew cold. We banked, had coffee, got bleary eyed at the Carrefours, and headed back up the mountain. At the entrance to Gratallops we found Fredi and friends, examining his beaten in Volvo. He was so mellow about it. His windshield and windows had been busted in by random vandals on a joy ride at 4 in the morning. The tow truck that came to haul it away broke the axle or something, and his beloved car sat in ruins. More like the Bronx than Gratallops. So weird and out of place, such a violent act unusual in this part of the world. But he was quite cavalier about it, saying negativity had no place in his complex life. I guess when you make extraordinary wine, the rest is just stuff. Cool. Hopeful.
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