I’ve always liked small things and small spaces. I remember when Mom would kick us out of the house as children: I would just grab a few of books and head out to read under the picnic table. I remember spending lots of time in a two person pup tent with my next-door neighbor. You couldn’t even stand up in it, let alone realistically sleep more than two ten-year-olds in it.

The fascination continued into my adulthood. In my early 30s, before tiny houses were known by most of the world, I was dragging my parents out to Ohio to tour one as buying any “typical” sized home for just one person didn’t make much sense to me.

And then there was my sweet little Adelaide: my silver Volkswagen Beetle convertible. Yes, the trunk was tiny, but I quite liked the fact that I could only fit a carry-on suitcase and a backpack in it. And could even throw my friend’s wheelchair into the backseat when we went out for lunch or shopping.

So it’s no wonder that when we moved to Spain, I started taking pictures of all the things that were small here. Smaller than things I’d ever seen in the US.

It started with a cookie that was served to me with my café con leche in Grado, Spain. 

Then, the ice cube tray in an apartment we stayed in when first we arrived in València. 

Which is also a little ironic because the rare times that one gets served a drink with ice here in Spain, it is just one or two large, round cylinders of ice. No crushed ice. No cubes. And never more than two in a glass.

Because the glasses are small here, too.

Whether it’s a carajillo (coffee served with a little liquor in the bottom). . . 

A chocolate dessert from the supermarket. . .

Or even a bottle of water. I remember when my youngest sister Meg came to visit in January and was amazed that rarely could she sit down at a café and order a big bottle of water. Only small ones. With even smaller glasses. To the point that she took a picture the first time she actually was able to secure herself a large water bottle.

The cars are also small here.

Maybe because the streets are small?

Traveling with my parents on the Camino, my father couldn’t believe the size of the soap.

So it shouldn’t come as any surprise that when deciding how to brighten up my whiteboard, I started crocheting tiny butterflies.

I’m rarely inspired to take pictures inside bathrooms in the US. But here in Spain? I’ve found myself, more than once, (and certainly after I wash my hands!) taking photos of the small sinks, tables, and garbage cans I find all over this country.

Speaking of all over, here’s a picture of the balcony when I was in Granada, Spain. My bottom just barely fits on the chair!

Speaking of seating, I even saw these tiny couches for your pets in a shop window.

Yes, even the pets are tiny here . . .

And then there was the Thanksgiving turkey. A lot of measurement and debate went into how big a turkey we could actually fit in our oven.

The turkey just about fit in our (tiny) kitchen sink. . .

On Sunday, I’m flying to Italy to spend a week with Michael. So it should come as no surprise that for a six night stay, I’m just bringing a backpack.

Very Spanish of me, don’t you think?