In keeping with the theme of letting go, my blogger iPhone app just crashed before I saved the last two days worth of adventures and observations. Looking back, it was likely no great loss. We had a lovely time in our fancy neighborhood, sipping wine, watching sunsets from viewpoint walls on mountain tops, sleeping in million thread-count sheets, etc.
Today, Christmas Eve, we moved into our new barrio pequeño, a little gated compound of six tiny casitas (read potentially adorable free-standing studio apartments) where for the next week Ben can work on Billy without sidelong glances from fancy neighbors.
Our landlady du jour filled us in on our barrio-mates, telling us that one does tarot readings and another looks "scary like a gangster thug, but is really very nice." When we gave her our Seattle PO Box as a mailing address, she assumed that we were homeless (which we are, but still...). The thing that keeps it on the charming side of bizarre is that our barrio pequeño is not actually a trailer park. That is not to say we are above finding our little vintage camper and parking it here while we fix it up real purty. (As I write this, two cats are fighting in the... uh... courtyard.)
When we arrived at our new digs Ben announced, "This is where we will live for the next week like migrant workers! Not because we have to, but because we can!" I nearly died of hysterical laughter. Billy feels remarkably at home here and didn't get the joke at all. He'll watch a sunset from anywhere, sleep under the stars--which here are so bright as to remind you that in their own worlds they are suns and unlike anything I've ever seen in a real-life sky--and he couldn't care a single bit less who's around. Billy is just good people.
