The villagers say that summer ends with the Noche del Vino, and although the calendar may disagree, there seems to be truth to the local lore, as a mountain breeze stirred that very night and temperatures have steadily crept back into a more comfortable zone, one that does not require multiple showers in a 24-hour period. Summer does not cowardly pass away without a fight, however, and the whispers become gales, stirring up the sea and causing beachgoers to abandon their chaises and instead set up camp in the chiringuitos that line the promenade.
And after the collision of several unfortunate events, the past month has also left Big Jim and me feeling unsettled like the churning Mediterranean. In the past 31 days, Big Jim had a new contract, then didn't, then did, then did again but at reduced hours, but then at such reduced hours it was ridiculous and could no longer justify remaining in the position so that now, he has no job. All because of one corporate political jackass, his spineless toady, and a liar of an agent, who despite knowing the full-time position had not received final approval made no mention of this to Big Jim and signed him to a 40 hour/week contract. The succession of e-mails was like an early mistral gone berserk. Add to the storm Big Jim's suitcase being robbed at the Malaga airport (I will spare you the lame response from Air Berlin, at least for now) AND having money tied up because of SUSPICION OF MONEY LAUNDERING (!!!!) as we transferred money from one of our bank accounts to another so that Big Jim could easily pay the deposit on his new apartment. Laughably---now---the latter was an major-league blessing as Big Jim would have otherwise signed the lease and paid the deposit on an apartment that we may not need.
So as August approached its final days, Big Jim and I washed up on the shore, bedraggled and exhausted from the absurd ride on life's waves. But as you know, there are many reasons why I love my husband. And one for next year's list has to be his response to this little mess: rather than remaining beaten down like a piece of rotted driftwood, the next day he went straight to the Internet cafe around the corner from where he's staying and e-mailed 300 agents to let them know he was available for work. The director from his last project in the Hague also gave him several contacts in the city. With a little luck and blessing from the job-seeking fairies, he should find something soon. Regardless, despite the Category 4-like drama, I cannot help but feel the eye of the hurricane passed us just a wee bit to the west, sparing us the worst of what inevitably would have been a disastrous work project for Big Jim.
Which brings me to the collection of sea glass I have amassed since we moved here. One large jar full of reminders that even the nastiest of storms can leave behind pretty, smooth, sparkly bits in the sand.
hasta pronto,
mylifeinspain
4 years ago: One more month (warning: rant to follow)
3 years ago: The standoff
2 years ago: No entry.
1 year ago: No entry.
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