It’s Not That I’m Saying Goodbye by Maggie Scratch

Kasia and Me.jpgI’m leaving Barcelona, but I’ll be back.

There’s always so much work to do.

Spread the word!

The soul is love!

Have fun, be a friend, be a buddy, pass on the good stuff.

Here’s Kasia from Warsaw with a world of words in her head.

 Polish!  German! English! Spanish! And Catalan too!

A culture-bug-bookworm with Master’s Degrees!

Linguistics! Communication! Philology!

What does all this mean?

Find your path and hit the road.

Dig in.

There’s gold in our roots.

I’m getting my boots on.

I’m ready, let’s go!

Every step we take, here we are!

My Piece of the Sky by Maggie Scratch

1499464_10202313805982579_863405162_nI can see the sky from my roof.

Another year of seeing the sky.

Another year to look at beautiful things.

Another year to think.

Another year to laugh.

Another year to love.

To be loved.

To be amazed.

To be crazed.

And dazed.

It’s all so precious.

So delicate.

Such a fight!

To get to the good stuff.

To…see the light!

Happy New Year to You!

Happy New Year to me!

Another year of reprieve!

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Christmas Day 2016 by Maggie Scratch

Hopi.jpgThis prophecy hits the nail on the head. Especially, “At this time in history, we are to take nothing personally, least of all ourselves…” Is it possible to change? Is it possible to be a better person? Kinder? Gentler? Friendlier? TOLERANT? PEACEFUL? GIVING? COMPASSIONATE? PATIENT? FLEXIBLE? The human-being-grow-up list is pretty endless. A friend is doing her new year’s resolutions and one of them is to use less plastic. PLASTICLESS? Ok, why not? Helpful? I’m full of dreams. I wish for changes, deep changes. Not to take things personally is, personally, an excellent beginning.

Is Caspar Still the Star-Crossed Mystery Man? by Maggie Scratch

It’s not every day I’m in the presence of Caspar. When I am, I don’t skip a beat. I can’t!

His wit! His information!  His jokes! Our ping-pong-cinema-trivia game!

It’s all too fast for me. I don’t even try to write it down. What? Take notes during a conversation with Caspar? Impossible! I don’t want to miss a word! I’m all ears and eyes, what will he say next? What will he write? Horror, comedy, religion, death? Will it be scary  and bloody too?

Caspar The Aristocrat!

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The Butler!

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The Minister of Defence!

 

 

 

 

Back in Barcelona Unwinding With The Screamin Demon by Maggie Scratch

 

 

steven-tyler-says-aerosmith-will-go-on-a-farewell-tour-next-year-09.JPGI don’t usually listen to rock. In fact, I love silence, but you never know when lightning will strike. It struck me last night lying on my couch. So I put the headphones in, far in, and went down a hard rocker’s road. It wasn’t hard at all. It was like I always knew this voice, this guy from Boston, my alma mater, my alma, this unbedded fellow beast, this soul mate of words, this Joe Cocker creature, his gray streaks and chiseled face, this reinvented rebel with cause for fame, this father, this son, this singer, this man, this twin at heart. I guess you could sum it all up and say I love  his voice. But it’s more than that. Steven Tyler is my coach. My mentor. My guide. He’s a total inspiration for an old fart grandmother. Here I am, about to look at 32 years of my life, starting with my daughter’s bedroom. I will start with her closet. She is never coming back to use this closet. She has her own closet in Oslo but she still has all these clothes on hangers, shoes stuffed into bags, bags of stuff on the closet floor, all kinds of gauzy skirts that she made or collected,  stuff hanging out of duffle bags, paper bags, bags and bags and bags of her life. I really don’t want to go in there, so I don’t. I look out at the plum tree. Look! The blackbird is back! Can that bird hear the water I splashed into the dish this morning? Can the bird smell that I’ve returned from the north? Something is up! What’s up is that I am now living in the pre-new-now. The new now is what I’m trying to get my mind around. That’s why I’m fascinated by Steven Tyler. That’s why I’m starting with my daughter’s bedroom. The combination of Steven Tyler’s voice screaming at me to get my mind around the fact that something is up  and the act of cleaning out my daughter’s closet is no coincidence.It’s lightning striking twice. It’s reality. I was lying on my couch trying to unwind and Steven Tyler  wound me up.He’s still winding me up. I need this guy to scream at me louder and louder and louder, dream on, dream on, dream on… and finally, as if he were an axe — he makes a dent. Right, I don’t want to miss a thing either.  Two outstanding tee-shirts have walked by me recently. First, Now Or Never. Then,  Get Over It. How does anyone  know what will happen? Freud says: “You know everything.” But, I, for one, need a dent to realize what I already know. I’m about to stare 32 years of my life in the face. At least today I get it. The past is done. Get over it. The new-now is promising. It’s true what Freud said. I know everything. Deep deep down, if I really think about it, I always knew this would happen.  I always dreamed it. It’s all good. I’ll start with the closet.

A Birdie Over My Shoulder in Barcelona by Maggie Scratch

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Can you find my blackbird? I think it’s a she but her mate comes too. They love water! And I clean their birdbath often, so they thank me by singing and letting me watch them shake their tailfeathers and go into ecstasy. It’s 100° in the shade today! Now that ceramic dish they splash in would be called ‘The Ceramic Dish Miracle’ by Pam Grout, the author of Esquared, a book my friend Caspar sent me about plugging into something called The Field of Potential which happens to be something I already believe in, so I’m doing Experiment One and the deadline for this first principle to present itself is in exactly six minutes. I had 2 signs so far and I’m waiting for the third. The Ceramic Dish Miracle happened one day when I  realized that what I wanted was to find a beautiful ceramic dish that would fit into that plant stand so I could have a birdbath and see if any birds would come. When I went down to the street that day, There It Was. In the street. Sitting on the curb next to the trash container. I swear this is true. I took it upstairs. It fit perfectly on the stand. Do I have a birdie over my shoulder?

 

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Birdbath for the Blackbirds

My Barcelona Day With Eva the Osteopath by Maggie Scratch

20160621_114947When I arrive, Eva’s street smells like caldo de cubito. Someone’s going to throw a handful of skinny little yummy noodles and make a plate of soup. Upstairs with her adorable Afro pony tail, Eva gets right to the point: my left foot. She works me over gently, firmly, and I put myself in her hands. I trust Eva, I can walk again, and she has great taste in music. Jazz. Diana Krall, Madeleine Peyroux, Cecile McLorin. Eva is my healer. If it weren’t for her, my OCD, OTT, ridiculous personality might have taken my foot to the cleaner’s! I’m hyper and driven to finish whatever I start, the schlepping took its toll.

Ignore a problem and you pay!

Habits can turn chronic!

On the way home from Eva’s, because of the subway strike, there’s a crowd at the bus stop and NO BUS! I take out my cherished old red leather purse that was my mother’s, and I count out some change for the beautiful proud woman beggar, but just then the bus comes and I hobble on it fast. I arrive home and stop off to buy cookies for Gloria, my cookie-monster student. It’s a good thing, Montse, the pastry shop owner, is my friend. I’m digging and scraping but I can’t find that purse! I empty my bags, all my stuff— on her counter.  I rush home to think. But who can think? I try. I see it all as clear as day. There I am, guard down, stoned on acupuncture and trying not to look off-balance at the bus stop. Whoever it was on the Bus 54 that nabbed me, nailed me in the street. The perfect words shoot out of my mouth at home. I speak to the cabron in English and I feel lucky!

“You didn’t get my foot!”