Home is where the heart is

My husband, son and I flew to Madrid to spend Christmas and time together as a family. Our daughter had moved there at the end of the summer. The excitement over the visit consumed all of us, partly because it was Madrid after all, although I suspected in my heart that it was because we have not been together as a family for almost half the year, quite unusual for us.

My ultimate planning skills were in full gear to ensure perfect synchronization of schedules and logistics. The internet helped me find what turned out to be an ideal place to stay and we all got there as scheduled.

Our daughter's enthusiasm to show and share with us her "new life" couldn't be contained:  where she lived, how she went to work, her new friends, where she ran, ate, shopped and hang out.  We walked a lot.  A lot.  My husband cooked breakfast.  Our daughter made us dinner.  We feasted on jamon serrano, cheese, olives, and vino.  We had tapa and paella tastings as well as churros, cafe con leche and chocolate whenever and wherever we could.  We talked for hours, while reminding ourselves that we "have to see Madrid" -- and we did:  Madrid is a clean and beautiful city.  The Madrilenos dress well, eat well, live well.  Even the dogs are as well groomed as their masters!  The city reminds me of how, even a place, can "age well".

Still, what I will remember about the trip would be less about what we saw or bought, but more about how we spent our time together.  Although we were not home, we were -- because we were together.  There is an old saying - home is where the heart is - and I feel this couldn't have been truer than with our time in Madrid.