Elena has returned from New Zealand (well, actually, from Australia... once she heard about the fact we couldn't leave the Sydney airport on our flight home she applied for a tourist visa online, got it, and then spent three days staying with a friend who works there.)
Now that she's back my stint as surrogate dad to her son Josep is pretty much over. It's been fun and, I've gotta admit, a physical challenge for someone of my advanced age. What with school registration, book-buying, daily laundry (the more of his clothes I washed the more I came to appreciate the whole nudist lifestyle), doctor's appointments, daily house cleaning (boys can be soooo messy), shopping daily to meet the nutritional needs of a boy who seems to be constantly in need of food, dentist appointments, cooking for that same boy - who comes complete with the usual number of food phobias - and coping with the bewildering complexity of teenage social interactions I was more or less (mostly more) exhausted at the end of the day. That aside, I'm glad we got to spend this month together. We had a couple of arguments (well, we're both male so that's kind of natural) and a lot of fairly lengthy discussions about everything from the Catalunyan independence movement to school, girlfriends, religion, fashion, piercings, tattoos, careers, bullies and a dozen other topics.
Now that Elena's back, it's time to look for a new apartment. Originally, I planned to live in this apartment above Elena's mom but those plans went pear shaped toward the end of our stay in Middle Earth. Apparently, about 2-1/2 years ago Elena told some acquaintances from France that they could rent her house in the suburbs while their house in the same neighborhood was being built. She didn't hear anything from them for almost two years and so she and Josep were going to move there as soon as she came home from New Zealand. (They had been living in this apartment above her mom while she had some remodeling done at her house. That remodeling project was completed while we were in New Zealand.) Anyway, toward the end of our stay in The Land Down Under and Over a Bit the French family got in touch and said they'd like to move in at the end of August. That presented Elena with a moral dilemma, which she resolved the only way that she could by telling them it was okay since she had promised them they could live there while their own home was being built. (She was still living in Delaware when she made that promise...)
Long story short, I'm apartment hunting. That's not difficult here because Spain's economy is not in the best shape and there are a lot of nice apartments for rent at very reasonable prices. I'm in search of something airy where I can write and paint. (I haven't had much time to do either in the past month and it's unfair to ask Elena and Josep to put up with my schedule, which often includes writing until 4 or 5 a.m. On top of that, I'm used to living alone and, frankly, I quite like it.)
My other requirements: It has to be furnished (I gave away all my furniture when I moved here) and it can't be more than three flights of steps from street level to the apartment. (It takes me a while to climb them these days but I don't mind steps. However, three flights is about all I can manage.) There's a place on Placa Prim, which is not far from here, that I'm considering and another near Parc Sant Jordi, where I've been known to spend an hour or two reading in the middle of the day in between shopping and assorted other chores.
The place I'm searching for doesn't have to be perfect but it's got to be a place where I can live and work because wherever I end up I plan to stay for at least the next five years.
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