September 28
This morning we have our last breakfast at Restaurante Acella. We take our last walk around the neighborhood. We have our last Skype call--with Jim, Mom J, Mary, and Rich.
This evening our last dinner in Pamplona is at a cafe joined at the hip to a KFC. We eat pasta while watching our first (and probably last) Spanish TV program, a game show that is part Wheel of Fortune and part The Weakest Link. The emcee is a cheesy guy who randomly breaks into song or does a lame moonwalk across the stage. However, it is quite an amusing diversion: we soon find ourselves answering aloud, even shouting answers at the contestants. Keep in mind that we have to first understand the question, then maybe you'll understand that it becomes a challenge for us; and we take a bit of pride in being able to answer correctly or, even better, beat the contestants to an answer. We don't care that we may appear foolish--the only other person there is a man at the counter, drinking a beer and finding his own amusement in us, although not in an unkind way.
Our gear is ready to go, just a last-minute item or two to place in our packs in the morning. My phone is back in silent mode and the alarm is set for 5 a.m. I'm tucked in for my last night's sleep in the pappasan chair.
And, oh geez, I'm lying here wide awake, stomach churning, wondering what the next three weeks will be like. I'd hate to say they can't be any worse than the first three weeks and have the Universe take that as a challenge. But, being me, I'm having a hard time calming myself and wiping all expectations and dread from my mind. I must remember to take it one day at a time and be in the moment--two thoughts that I plan to turn into mantras for when anxiety threatens to sabotage me.
With that, enough rambling. It's time to make another attempt at sleep.
Good night!
This morning we have our last breakfast at Restaurante Acella. We take our last walk around the neighborhood. We have our last Skype call--with Jim, Mom J, Mary, and Rich.
This evening our last dinner in Pamplona is at a cafe joined at the hip to a KFC. We eat pasta while watching our first (and probably last) Spanish TV program, a game show that is part Wheel of Fortune and part The Weakest Link. The emcee is a cheesy guy who randomly breaks into song or does a lame moonwalk across the stage. However, it is quite an amusing diversion: we soon find ourselves answering aloud, even shouting answers at the contestants. Keep in mind that we have to first understand the question, then maybe you'll understand that it becomes a challenge for us; and we take a bit of pride in being able to answer correctly or, even better, beat the contestants to an answer. We don't care that we may appear foolish--the only other person there is a man at the counter, drinking a beer and finding his own amusement in us, although not in an unkind way.
Our gear is ready to go, just a last-minute item or two to place in our packs in the morning. My phone is back in silent mode and the alarm is set for 5 a.m. I'm tucked in for my last night's sleep in the pappasan chair.
And, oh geez, I'm lying here wide awake, stomach churning, wondering what the next three weeks will be like. I'd hate to say they can't be any worse than the first three weeks and have the Universe take that as a challenge. But, being me, I'm having a hard time calming myself and wiping all expectations and dread from my mind. I must remember to take it one day at a time and be in the moment--two thoughts that I plan to turn into mantras for when anxiety threatens to sabotage me.
With that, enough rambling. It's time to make another attempt at sleep.
Good night!
We pray for a safe journey forward for you and Jerri and for Beth and nurse Kaen on the way home. I will continue my sacrifice of no sweets for the rest of your pilgrimage.
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