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Sometimes life throws you lemons — which kind of hurts if they come at a high velocity. But then, lemons are quite useful: lemon juice can be used to clean tarnish off of copper, take the odor out of your kitchen sink, brighten dull blonde hair and, of course, make lemonade.

Last April, life through me a doozy of a lemon. Those of you who have been reading this blog since then know what I’m talking about. For those of you who are new, I was hit by a minivan and fractured my tibia.

Anyway, since that time, my recovery has been slow and annoying. The latest repercussion has had be rethink how I live my life, especially as it relates to food. You see, I was 165 lbs and loosing when that van hit me. But, since I haven’t been able to be as active since the accident the weight loss has turned to weight gain. This past week, I hit 200 lbs. The most I’ve ever weighed in my life.

My bras — which, I might add, I just purchased last month — are so tight they dig into my skin. The swelling in my ankle, which has been a recurring problem since an injury several years ago, has increased so much that the swelling sometimes reaches into my thigh. Yuck. I’m very uncomfortable and unhappy in the body I currently inhabit.

So, since exercise is still a challenge (I’m back to using the cane when I go up and down stairs and my ankle hurts most of the time), I’m going to take a stronger stance with my food intake. I’m going back on the Nutrisystem plan.

OK, this means some of my cookbook ideas will just have to wait. But that’s OK, I’ve got plenty of non-food related projects I can work on while I loose 57 lbs. I thought that I’d share my progress with you in this blog. So for at least a little while, Random Thoughts will be concentrating on weight loss and my trip to Spain and Romania.

Of course, those random thoughts will pop up and, of course, I will share them with you. Otherwise, this just wouldn’t be Random Thoughts, now would it?

So, back to lemonade. The accident may have been an experience I’d rather not have gone through, but the challenges it has made me face have helped me focus my life and really concentrate on those things that are most important to me. Not that I’d recommend everyone go out and get hit by a minivan.

Until next post …

I stand in the cathedral, listening to the service in a language I barely understand. But that’s not what gets my attention.

My eyes follow my heart as it rises with the choir’s song toward the vaulted ceiling where stained glass windows tell stories from the Bible. I almost feel more than see the undulation of hundreds of hand-held fans, swaying like anemones in the ocean’s current.

The church is filled with the scents of floral perfumes and clove-like incense.

The emotion of the room is heady. So much prayer has been said here. And today, the patrons celebrate an annual festival in honor of Malaga’s patron saint — La Fiesta de la Virgen de la Victoria — The Festival of the Virgin of Victory (one of Mary’s, the mother of Jesus, many representations).

After the service, everyone gathers outside, jostling for the perfect position from which to view the dancers. The air is filled with the roar of dozens of conversations, rolling through the crowd like ocean waves. An occasional burst of laughter punctuates the sound.

The dancers come, dressed in bold and bright colors — fuchsia, turquoise, red, blue, green. Each group has its own costume and arrives in order of age, youngest first. The first group is composed of children, probably ranging in age from 5 to 8. Their teacher flits from place to place. He wears a turquoise outfit with a white sash about his waist. He primps this child, advises another.

One little girl caught my attention. The expression on her face vacillated between concentration and confusion. The group would twirl right and she would twirl left. Her hair was up in the traditional tight bun and a single red flower clung to her hair above her right ear.

Then came the pre-teens, the teenagers and finally the adults. The final group wore traditional Spanish flamenco dresses with tall mantillas atop their heads.

After the dancing, my mother and I left to stroll the avenida and stopped for some tapas at Restaurante el Chinitas. The rumble of drums and other musical instruments followed us there, echoing in the small alleys between shops and restaurants. A loan guitarist played outside the restaurant for the patrons seated there, his back to an ornately decorated wooden door (a left over from the Moors).

For me, this day Malaga was all that Spain was supposed to be. It was alive with music, laughter and devotion. That night, I watched the news which focused on the procession of the Virgin. Her statue, seated with honor upon a silver covered throne, was paraded about town for all to see and rejoice in life well-lived.

Next Installment: Estepona