Our scheduled month in Gratallops, as guardians of the hotel, has been waylaid. Truly distressing. Cristina sent photos of the snowfall in the Priorat, a blanket of beauty.
I have been dreaming of the church bells and the birds singing outside the window of Cal Llop. And now I am trying to reconcile myself to the fact that I am stuck in the misery that is Portland, Oregon, because of possible work for David. Sad, to be tethered to a place who's usefulness has worn off. Will I ever get to where I long for?
We had hoped to at least rendezvous for a couple of weeks at Cal Llop, to ring in the new year, but I fear I have incurred the wrath of Cristina by not coming for the month. Who knows.
Today is Christmas Eve, the first holiday without any of the kids. Weird. I won't do this again, not here. Next Christmas, Spain.
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