Attending the family reunion was a regular occurrence in the summer where I grew up. There was a phrase that brought relief to every kid and parent within ear shot of 200 yards, "Who's ready for a swim?" All of us could envision the shade, rafts and rope swings.
It happened. I didn't notice it after my luggage was delivered to my room, but suspected when filling out the breakfast request. During dinner I observed the portraits on the wall had a dark mood. The people of the 13th century were staring at me, dark and brooding reflected in their eyes. Something was very different during my stay in the city of Cordoba. As if nothing has changed for the past 800 years; clippity-clop sounds of the horse drawn carriage make the turn at the corner below my bedroom window. A blacksmiths horseshoes on cobble stones. Was I dreaming? Tired and full I was fast asleep under the heavy blankets of wool and skins. The next morning the staff rolled breakfast in and everything became clear; I felt like a ruler.
