“I’ve met someone,” confided my friend, a widower in his 80s with a twinkle in his eye.
“What’s she like?” I asked, hoping she wasn’t 20-something with expensive tastes. “How old is she?”
“My age. And one of the things I like about her? She eats dessert first.”
“Sounds like a keeper.”
She was. They had a lovely late-life romance, made all the more fun because they decided not to marry; they didn’t want to give up the wicked pleasure of scandalizing their kids and grandkids. I admired her attitude toward life, embodying Erma Bombeck’s famous advice: “Seize the moment. Remember all those women on the Titanic who waved off the dessert cart.”
This week, nearly half of all Americans made resolutions to seize the moment and become healthier, happier, thinner, richer, and blessed with a more thrilling love life. Yep, another stunning triumph of hope over experience. Studies show that 60% to 80% of all resolutions will be in the dumpster by the end of this month.
As for me, I’m not making any resolutions, I’m just wallowing in a brief moment of gratitude that I somehow survived the perfect storm known as 2025.
“Life is a hurricane, and we board up to save what we can and bow low to the earth to crouch in that small space above the dirt where the wind will not reach,” wrote novelist Jesmyn Ward. “We love each other fiercely, while we live and after we die. We survive.”
Yes, 2025 was a Category Five hurricane, and hunkering down until it passed qualifies as a triumph. “When you come out of the storm,” says author Haruki Murakami, “you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.” Like 2020, this year has marked us all.
But hey, any year you can walk away from…
”So much for 2025. What do you think 2026 is going to be like?”
If I sound cynical, I’m right on trend. “Cynicism is vastly on the rise,” says Jamil Zaki, the director of the Stanford Social Neuroscience Lab, in a NY Times article about finding hope in 2026. Studies show hope really helps; it’s is a major predictor of well-being, affecting our health, longevity, even how tall we grow. So how can we get ahold of more of this hope stuff?
One of Zaki’s top tips: “Replace cynicism with skepticism.” He suggests that instead of automatically assuming 2026 will turn out to be a disaster of biblical proportions, we should try to believe that it only might turn out to be a disaster of biblical proportions.
Really? This is our ray of light in the darkness? We only might be doomed?
Graffiti I spotted in Cådiz says, “Health and luck.” Followed by a little “OK?” that to me suggests, “But only if it’s not too much trouble for you, God!”
Just how inauspicious is this year? “Nostradamus’ predictions for 2026 include rivers of blood, plague of bees, and death by lightning,” says a NY Post headline. When I read this aloud to Rich, he just laughed. His attitude is more like author Nancy Mitford, who said, “Life is sometimes sad and often dull, but there are currents in the cake, and here is one of them.”
Rich and I have lots of currents in our cake these days, including a promise to ourselves (NOT a resolution) to do a bit more traveling. Over several long Sunday lunches, we discussed how great it feels to be part of our beloved Home 2.0 in Seville but agreed we shouldn’t get so comfortable that we stop exploring the wider world.
So we hopped a train south to Cádiz, one of Europe’s oldest continuously inhabited cities. To be in its streets felt like walking through history. Pre-history, even. At the Cádiz Museum, I gazed in awe at 100,000-year-old arrowheads and 250,000-year-old bashing stones. But those were new tech compared to the Acheulean hand axes.
600,000-year-old Acheulean hand axes found in Cadiz
They look like they’d be perfect for cutting, chopping, and mashing, but archaeologist have learned you can’t really grip one without endangering your fingers. Despite this pesky drawback, untold millions were painstakingly crafted and carried all over the planet for 1.5 million years. They are the most enduring tool in human history and nobody can figure out why.
The ones found in Cádiz were fashioned 600,000 years ago, when our ancestors were just developing cumulative culture, the uniquely human ability to build on past innovations. One theory suggests the hand axes were created by men solely to show off prowess and attract mates, a skill that is still a work in progress today.
The museum was founded to house a Phoenician fellow’s sarcophagus unearthed in Cádiz in 1887. A century later a female sarcophagus turned up and everyone got misty-eyed over reuniting the couple. But then they learned the female’s coffin was 70 years older than the male’s and that the body inside it was, in fact, a robust middle-aged guy. A romance? A bromance? Who knows?
Mystery surrounds these 2500-year-old Phoenician sarcophagi in the Cádiz Museum.
Cádiz is famously the friendliest city in Spain, and we were welcomed everywhere. In the medieval quarter, we came upon a crowd gathered around a fire, dancing and singing to the beat of a cajón (box drum). Mostly it was flamenco, popular there since the 15th century, but as a nod to the season, there were villancicos (carols), too. People made room for me in the circle and I joined in on Los Peces en el Río (The Fish in the River).
Years ago I asked amigos about this villancico; did people think fish were present at the nativity of Jesus? They explained the song’s popularity rests on the line, “Beben y beben and vuelven a beber,” (“They drink and drink and go back and drink some more”) which listeners often take as an invitation to open another bottle.
People from the crowd jumped into the middle of the circle to dance flamenco by the fire.
The Spanish are not shy about enjoying themselves. In 1912, when the lavish Café Royalty opened, it became the city’s hallmark of splendid excess. The moment I stepped inside, I realized it was the closest I’d ever get to eating in the Titanic dining room, lost at sea that very same year.
Rich and I dined at Café Royalty with friends who agreed it would be a crime to wave away the dessert cart. We ordered picatostes, literally “croutons,” but in this case meaning thick, sweet bread toasted to golden crunchiness with an interior almost as soft as custard. Are you drooling yet?
That was hands-down the best dessert, but my favorite meal of the trip was in La Isleta de la Viña, a cozy restaurant filled with families and bullía (joyful noise). Someone had written on the wall “Compartir es vivir” (“To share is to live”). In Cádiz, you’re all in this together.
“Cádiz is a city of magic, like Cracow or Dublin, to set the mind on fire at a turn of a corner,” wrote British travel writer Honor Tracy. “The eye is continually fed, the imagination stirred, by a train of spectacles as charming as if they had been contrived.”
Cádiz does more than dazzle; it embraces visitors. Let’s hope Nostradamus is wrong about 2026 being full of bees, blood, and bolts of lightning. But just in case, I’m keeping these warm memories close to give me comfort until the next storm passes.
One of my favorite memories of Cádiz is Rich saying, “Look! This is it! The arc of human achievement. From the hand axes to my cell phone.”
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