The Great Gatsby, the great Midwest

''That's my Middle West- not the wheat or the praries of the lost Swede towns, but the thrilling returning trains of my youth, and the street lamps and sleigh bells in the frosty dark and the shadows of holly wreaths thrown by lighted windows on the snow. I am part of that, a little solemn with the feel of those long winters... We were all Westerners, and perhaps we possessed some deficiency in common which made us subtly unadaptable to Eastern life.

Even when the East excited me most, even when I was most keenly aware of its superiority to the bored, sprawling, swollen towns beyond the Ohio, with their interminable inquisitions which spared only the children and the very old... I see it as a night scene by El Greco: a hundred houses, at once conventional and grotesque, crouching under a sullen, overhanging sky and a lustreless moon. In the foreground four solemn men in dress suits are walking along the sidewalk with a strechor on which lies a drunken woman in a white evening dress. Her hand, which dangles over the sides, sparkles cold with jewels. Gravely the men turn in at a house- the wrong house. But no one knows the woman's name, and no one cares.''


Love the Midwest. Love Minnesota.

<3 br="" molly="">

Finally...

Some pictures decent enough to show off...

Cudillero

Salinas

Salinas

This is Tanque

The rain.

The rain.

It's astonishing how the rain can cut Swiss cheese style holes into your chest, squeeze your heart out like a gooey liquid, and dance the hokey pokey on top of it until you don't feel like getting out of bed anymore.

It's not that I don't like rainy days, in fact, every once in a while I enjoy taking advantage of a rainy day... I'll take the excuse to stay inside, curled into a blanket covered ball while watching tacky love movies without having to feel guilty about it. The smell of the rain can be absolutely cleansing... bringing a peace of mind and tranquility like none other. The sensation of the soft dew coupled with the smell of damp mud. The sound of rain tapping on the windows and rooftops. But these occasions are a typical springtime bliss that only exist in my Minnesotan memory. The sound of rain pattering on the windows here sounds like the brother of the apocalypse to me. Why?

There is this weather thing going on here in Asturias that is just mind twisting.

It rains for two weeks. Then is sunny for a day. Then, rains for two weeks. Then is sunny for two days. Then rains for two weeks. I think you get it. That is winter here. I'll admit there is nothing more forgiving than a sunny day in the middle of January, and Asturias gives you a few of those every once in a while. Only yesterday we peaked at a heavenly pleasant 65 degrees! Fabulous. In a matter of seconds the sunshine fills those Swiss-cheese holes right up. But then, right as your heart is coming back into place, the rain punches through those freshly sealed holes, squeezes your newly mended heart out again, and vengefully dances the hokey pokey on top of it, this time until it collapses from exhaustion. Sigh. And this is today. Let's start week three of rain, people.