One of the things I've promised in this blog of ramblings is to cover more of the last several years and connect the dots between my earlier posts from 2007 to 2015, to suddenly appear on the blogger map again in 2023.

For many reasons, 2020 was a massive year of upheaval and change, and for my husband and myself, it affected our lives physically, emotionally and spiritually.

As Covid began to take its toll on the world, we found ourselves packing bags for my brother's long awaited wedding. We went, we danced with a feeling that it was the end of the world as we knew it, and then we faced 4 months of living with my parents as the world turned and burned.

We said sad goodbyes to my uncle as Covid took his tired, worn-out body from us.

We cooked a lot, waited a lot, and talked on the phone a lot with people in Spain as I watched my business implode and then surprisingly restart, but only to succumb to second lockdowns and curfews imposed in October of 2020.

And finally, we ran back to Spain in July only to have some people react in utter fear and disgust to the fact that we didn't self-quarantine for 2 weeks. I remember aching for those hugs that never came, and later, some of those we called friends and family, never could bring themselves back into our friendship ever again, and basically let us know we weren't supposed to be in their lives.

I don't want to sound complainy,  but the worst part of 2020 and 2021 was that, the fall of relationships. I wish I could say it was just one or two, but it wasn't. And I know I'm not alone. Covid in some form or fashion touched us all.

And in these, some of the most difficult moments we have all faced, I have found an emotional rock bottom I didn't know existed. After my business closed and I was almost promised a rather sweet remote job, I felt things were better, and suddenly, the job was given to a man and I was jobless.

I'll never forget that weekend. I think Andrew hid the sharp knives from me.

And someone called, hoping to cheer me up, and instead, it made it worse. I was so angry, so depressed and so very, very low. I know it was my husband's deep, bear hug love, and God's faith given to me that kept me from giving up.

And my little big brother called me. And listened to my cries and frustrations and anger and honestly, calling it what it is, grief. He asked me the question that changed my life, "Jamie, what do you want to do?"

And I couldn't answer. So I began to pray, think, meditate, and wonder out loud and in my little world, what should I do?

I found a video on the never-ending string of media on my feed, and it was an old Greek Phylo dough baker, who lives on a Greek Island and still makes dough by hand. I love dough making, it's so spiritual and meditative, and he did too. He and his wife and son still did it the ancient way, to bring tourists to his little tiny island. He talked about how he did it for the love of the homeland, and how he too needed to be a tourist.

And I knew, I knew I had to find something that would better my land. See, I've lived now 20 years in Granada, and it's my home. When we were exiled in Chicago during Covid, I have never been so heartsick for a place like I was for Granada. I am still awe in of the change of the seasons, the snow and the heat, the leaves and the flowers, and all the magic the city possesses. I knew I needed to find something that at the end of Covid was in desperate need of reviving. I didn't know then what that looked like, but one door opened to another and now I find myself as a real estate agent, bringing in foreign investment to a city growing and heaving again with tourism and new opportunities.

I ramble. But sometimes, I think faith is wrapped up in a long-distance phone call with a favorite brother who tenderly asks, What do you want to do? And the answer in the stillness of those following days and weeks now roar a loud echo over my current life.