So many bests.

Frank Gehry's Guggenheim stunned me with its shocking yet appealing construction, materials and concept. And Richard Serra's installation was the perfect addition. Surely this is the most beautiful museum building in the world. Traipsing around Bilbao and San Sebastian gave my brother and me the best possible experience of the two cities. Pinxtos and cervezas everywhere. Also dinner at Arzak, a three star family-run restaurant that features dad and daughter in a duet of good food and warm reception. San Sebastian has the greatest number of two and three-star restaurants in the world.

So back to Spanish instruction for me. The old world awaits....

Ghosts of Spain

Flying to Bilbao next week to meet my brother, and ramping up my Spanish in anticipation. I'm reading Ghosts of Spain by Giles Tremlett, who's been the Madrid correspondent for The Guardian in London for twenty years. How delightful it is to immerse myself in this "other world" and to expand my known world. Though I grew up with many advantages, travel abroad wasn't one of them, and I knew from childhood I wanted to explore the world. Living in California made travel to Mexico and Canada easy, so of course I had traveled to those countries before college. Then I chose a profession that by its nature makes travel more truncated: psychotherapy. Still, I made sure I got out. New York, Maryland, Washington, D.C., France, England, Costa Rica, Bali, Hong Kong, well, that sort of thing. My hunger grows, however, and the list of places I want to put myself in is long. In midlife, I am aware that time is short, and there is an urgency to do what matters to me. I have so much to be happy with, a long-time husband whose company can be the best of anyone I know, two sons who are independent and decent people, a career that satisfies me intellectually and emotionally. I have a brother I adore, two exceptional friends, one I've known since first grade, the other a friend of my adulthood, to whom I can say anything. Yet I am restless, and an insomniac.

Mental gymnastics

It turns out you can access very old language acquisition by the mental equivalent of getting a running start. I couldn't remember the Spanish word for Tuesday...so, I started with Sabado, and quickly ran through Domingo, Lunes, and MARTES was right there, tumbling out of my memory. Makes me hopeful. Today a native Spanish speaker told me that after listening to me say something simple in Spanish, my accent "wasn't too bad". I'll take that as a superb compliment.

Second language dream

I wonder whether I can recover and expand the Spanish I learned over four years in high school, a quarter century later? I never became fluent, though I always wished to, but since I live in California the opportunities to use the language are ever-present. I have retained the exoskeleton of the language, meaning vocabulary and some verb tenses are automatic in my mind, but there are huge, gaping holes I would have to fill. Is it too late?

Unconsciousness

Freud said a lot of things that turned out not to stand the test of time, but he'll never be discredited for his understanding of the unconscious, giving it its name, delineating how it operated, and putting into words what Shakespeare grasped: Lady MacBeth compulsively washing her hands after helping murder the king. I encounter the spectacle of the unconscious showing itself with bemused, and often delighted recognition as I listen to the stories people tell me. Like a voice of truth, it rises above the cacophony of overt expression, making itself understood to anyone paying attention, anyone listening for the code. Heidi, at 26 telling me about her parents' relationship, how they interact with one another, and then describing her own relationship with her boyfriend...and using the same description she used about her parents, without ever noticing. Sometimes the unconscious voice is the loudest of all.

That Very First Thought

The many ways love and money get confounded: substitute in every sentence using the word "money", "love" instead. "How much money will you give me?" See? The way that generosity of heart, true giving of one's self, one's time, one's life is reflected in the manner of generosity with one's possessions is so unsettling, so obvious once looked at this way. And yet, money is unique, in that it can be used and enjoyed alone. It can be such a cheap substitute for real love, that demanding, difficult master. What puzzles me is how entrenched this can be, even though people recognize the issue. It makes me wonder, could money be the simple alternative to making room for another in one's life?