One of the great things about being married to Rich is that even after forty years, the man constantly surprises me. A few days ago, he turned to me out of the blue and said, “I just read an interesting article about how to fold feta cheese.”
My jaw dropped in astonishment. “How is that even a thing? Why would you want to? What’s the point?”
He looked at me oddly. “Weren’t you complaining just this morning about how impossible it is to fold our fitted sheets?” Oh, fitted sheets. Now it all made sense.
Yes, our fitted sheets have a tendency to look as if they’ve been dragged off the blades of a propeller and shoved into the closet by a blindfolded toddler. No matter what Rich had read, making them look any tidier seemed as improbable as folding crumbly white Greek cheese into origami swans. I’ve learned to live with it and suggested he do the same.
My sheets are among the countless domestic elements I am trying to corral into some kind of order at the moment, because at the end of this week we’re leaving for a six-month stay in America. (Do I have mixed feelings about that? Don’t get me started.)
As I putter around the apartment, reshelving books and collecting stray paintbrushes and candle stubs, I’m thinking about all the fun I’ve had over the past six months, especially with the Amigos Project.
As my regular readers know, I’ve spent a great deal of time over the fall and winter months interviewing expat friends to help me answer readers’ questions. People keep asking about the feasibility of escaping America if things get exponentially crazier. (And yes, never doubt that could happen. Probably will, in fact.)
I’ve done my best to reassure you all that moving abroad is quite feasible. You’ll probably want to begin as a part-time expat to test drive the experience. If you’re retired or work online, living in Europe can be a very affordable option, depending on your choice of location. As for feeling lonely, you’ll likely find it easier to make friends in a sociable city like Seville than you ever did back home.
Of course, there are downsides. Yesterday Rich and I got to talking about all the things we’ve learned to do without here in Spain. A car. A clothes dryer. A dishwasher. An automatic ice maker. Central heating. Amazon. While those things are obtainable in Seville, for us they’re so impractical we don’t bother. In winter I keep individual rooms toasty with space heaters and view my rapid dashes through the arctic zone (formerly known as the hallway) much as younger friends speak of their ice baths: useful for shocking the system into a state of heightened mental acuity but not a place you’d linger long.
While my apartment may lack a few modern conveniences, my Seville lifestyle is easier and more relaxed. My days unfold at a more civilized pace, giving me time to absorb some of this community’s age-old wisdom.
For a start, nobody here is invisible. I am never just a number on a credit card or a pile of groceries on a conveyor belt. I make eye contact wherever I go and kiss more people in a week than I do during six months in the US. In fact, while in California I have to keep a tight rein on my impulse to cheek-kiss everyone I meet, because often it is misconstrued in disturbing ways.
Here in Spain I have learned that the word nosotros — us — means everybody, not just those who are rich, lucky, white, and/or politically connected. Every Spaniard has access to education, health care, and an old age pension sufficient to keep them off the street. Amigos argue fiercely over government policies (and everything else) but agree that disagreements don’t make the other person a spawn of Satan.
Over the millennia, Sevillanos have weathered just about everything history can throw at a population: war, disease, invasion, dictators, tourists. During the pandemic, I could almost hear my neighbors thinking, “You call this pestilence? The Great Plague of 1647, when we lost a quarter of our population, now that was something!”
These days it’s more like, “Oligarchs? We were invaded by Julius Caesar! Religious fanatics? We survived the Spanish Inquisition!” Even in its darkest hours, Seville is confident that the community will endure, and I am hopeful America will, too.
As I toss out the ragged leftovers from my refrigerator and check the expiration dates on canned goods, my mind is already roaming ahead to California and our Apocalypse Chow Food Locker.
Before leaving California last fall, I stuffed the locker with rice, beans, coffee, oatmeal, artichoke hearts, olive oil, and canned tuna. Unfortunately, the bargain brand of tuna I chose is being recalled because there is a slight but worrying chance that it could kill us. So I guess I have more discarding and restocking to do when I get back.
Naturally, everyone is suggesting I pack my suitcase full of fresh eggs, which around here cost just 2.06€ ($2.25) a dozen. If only I could! At current US prices, they’d sell for enough to finance my tuna needs for the rest of the decade.
My next task is reviewing California’s latest emergency preparation warnings to see if I have to update anything else when I return to my San Anselmo home.
Luckily the town managed to survive winter’s flood season without a major inundation. Now all I have to do is get ready for instant evacuation during an earthquake — with headlamps for night flight and digging through rubble — and check the current boundaries of the official wildfire zone, which creeps closer to us every year. In my spare time, I’m hoping to learn whether they ever caught the neighborhood pyromaniac I heard so much about last fall.
All in all, I ‘m expecting a pretty exciting summer in California.
Whatever happens, I will rely on my Amigos Project wisdom for guidance. I will remember that us means everyone, and that everyone matters. Even people I disagree with. As I go about my day, I will make eye contact whenever possible, although I will refrain from kissing anybody unless I actually know them. Being aware that disaster could strike at any moment, from any direction, I will keep my heart, mind, and home in a state of readiness. As for my fitted sheets, I will accept that, like my country, they are always going to be a disheveled mess, but they are mine and I love them. Just as they are.
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