For the Love of Granada, and Katie Lent...

Some friendships start by dumb luck. On the first morning of the first day of Teach for America Induction I met this tiny blonde girl wearing a short skirt and red lipstick. She had a ton of luggage and a penchant for port wine and online television. We went to lunch and each consumed our weight in french fries. I would later learn that this feisty little rebel is one of the world's largest consumers of fried and frozen foods (as well as a hoarder of these things), did not own a pair of sneakers, and would chug coffee before and after every potentially thought-requiring task. This clever sweet-tart is of course Loren "Coach" Heinbach.

Also by coincidence on the very same day, I was introduced to future Supreme Court Justice Sarah Boyce when she and I were randomly assigned to be roommates at the very same induction. Later we roomed next door to each other in the dreaded Temple University suites where we were haunted by the absence of a person allegedly named Iwana Duck. Iwana never showed. Neither did her duck. Sarah and I became fast friends. By what Ignatius J. Reilly would call Fortuna's capricious nature, I also met some of my favorite people at Bates in coincidental ways such as these.

Other friendships of course require a bit more of stoking of the fire, or relentless pursuit, as some may call it. Danielle Touhey, for instance, was no easy sell on joining aboard the Westlake Well-Wisher Wagon. I pursued her. Eventually she succumbed.

Katie Lent is a friend of the former group. We met on the first day in Granada. She had braces and seemed fairly normal. I laughed in her face. I don't remember why. Thus began an epic friendship spanning time together on three continents, a fake accent, ridiculous sing-a-longs to Lil John as well as John Lennon, and our often repeated mantra, "Men are Mean!" led by the patriotic Patricio. Although Katie and I have spent time together in beautiful places, (including Lewiston, Maine and San Jose, California) the girl reminds me, as trite and pathetic as it sounds, that the people you are with are many times more important than the places where you are.

One day, no time soon, I will break another of our promises to each other (you really caught me at a low point, Ms. Lentyface) and in the far and cloudy future will decide to enter into that historically unsuccessful and dreaded institution some people recognize as marriage. (Joke, Mother, please do not have a heart-attack. Katie and I use to say things like that.) Katie will not respond to the Save the Date, nor the invitation but will instead show up unannounced and make a ceremoniously dramatic speech about the loss of sisterhood and the personal affront to her I will be making by accepting societal norms such as marriage, punctuality and time. The events that follow will be made into a Lifetime Movie.

Until then...here are some pictures of my trip to Granada with Vicki and Michael, two great travel companions. Granada is the same. It is the most beautiful place on Earth. The following images are an ode, homage, and tribute to Katie Lentface. There are mostly obnoxious pictures of me doing what I used to do with Katie and some of our other friends in my new purple pleather jacket. Granada was not as beautiful without you, my friend; nor would my life will be as boisterous or happy without you, either.

More pictures to come in my new Facebook album entitled, "I'd kill Lorca first..."

Cristobal: A controversial figure for some, a revered figure for others...some as IES Granada circa Fall 2005.

Cafe Central: it now has WiFi!

Natalia, who set me up with an internship once petting homeless dogs for 5 hours outside Granada with Helga, a German woman.

Introducing Vicki and Pedro to The Good Place.

The Mirador

Plaza Nueva: still dogs and hippies

In conclusion, of course, Katherine Lent:

When Your Mother Thinks You're Funny, You're Not

My mother, Susan Eydenberg Westlake, is a very special woman. Few other women of her generation continue to rock pigtails on and off the tennis court and have consistently fabulous ground strokes, even fewer can complete the NY Times Crossword Puzzle with rapidity, and even FEWER are so organized that they have tiny signs having over their desks with the expiration dates of the family passports. Rebecky: 2018, Dannyboy: 2022, et cetera.

I know my blog is a smashing success because I immediately make Vicki read it as soon as I write a new post and she always sends some ridiculous amounts of "hahahaha's" with other random letters thrown in as if she has had a small stroke and fallen onto the keyboard. My friend Laura who is in Pamplona and researching none other than blogs and citizen journalism reads my blog I think as part of her research demonstrating how blogs are a symbol of the decline of the American people. The greatest indicator of the success (or perhaps failure) of my blog is that during my mother's visit to Madrid she quoted parts of it back to me. The woman is an attorney and a stickler for details; you can't get anything past her and she clearly has committed all to memory. My mother thinks my blog is funny. In terms of my future as a humor columnist, this may be the kiss of death.

Alas, we had a fantastic visit together.

We went to the Reina Sofia and the Prado. At the Prado, I was reminded why uniforms are a good idea for students: they prevent the little ones from displaying gang colors, and they are also damn cute.

We went to tapas with my friends.

We went to Toledo.
We braved El Rastro.

She witnessed (perhaps in horror) how I do nothing at my job. Please note: this is not me at the front of the classroom. I no longer stand at the front. I usually sit at the back or poke children who are not listening. An additional note: I have not sunk as low as my Fulbright partner in crime Miguel "Lone Wolf" has. I do not arm-wrestle the children while the real teacher has her back turned. I draw the line at this. Our visit was full of culture, culinary luxuriates, (including a trip to Museo del Jamon, a recommendation from culinary expert Griffin Finan) and a good amount of whining (on my part.) Ever the trooper, my mother plunged into Spanish culture and bravely tried the foreign custom known as the siesta. She succeeded.

Here she is inappropriately using the bidet to soak her blisters. I include this last picture on my blog because my mom specifically said, "Rebecky! Do not put this on your blog!" She should have known better.