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runswithscissors


Monday, May 19, 2003

Yet another outrageously fine May Madrid morning. This current stretch of spectacular weather seems to stretch on and on -- mornings fresh and cool, though still shirtsleeve-friendly; afternoons warming up enough to feel hot in direct sunlight; temperatures settling down overnight so that the next morning arrives fresh, cool, etc. Twice within the last week, warm days have seen the sudden arrival of dark clouds, thunder and fast showers. Kind of nice, that contrast. People collect under eaves (waiting out the rainfall as they talk, looking up at the sky) or in restaurants (drinking a fast cup of coffee or glass of soda/water) until the rain lets up and the sidewalks get busy again.

I’ve been doing homework for tonight’s Spanish class (verb tenses, substantially more complicated than the English equivalents, me noticing how much more easily it’s coming for me these days). A breeze blows in the flat’s open windows, the late morning air just cool enough to feel good on my skin, I can hear the cord from the shades in the next room clicking against the metal window frame as it moves around. A church bell rang briefly a few minutes ago, maybe to signal midday, and I realized I only have a vague idea of where that church is. Sunday mornings, the bell rings at 9:15 and 11:15, perhaps announcing the start of different services -- a nice sound, one that welcomed me to the neighbourhood my first morning here in September of 2001.

Last night: I’m standing in line at the DVD rental joint a couple of blocks from here in swinging Chueca (in the heart of happening Madrid, or if not actually in the heart, then snuggled comfortably up against the pericardial sac). A young couple stand on line front of me -- her: short, very slender, in a baggy, sleeveless, fairly insubstantial blouse, baggy green painters’ pants, flip-flops. I notice the flip-flops and begin reflecting on how the recent spectacular run of early summer weather has affected women’s attire, leading to (a) lots of tight skimpy clothing or (b) lots of loose skimpy clothing or (c) baggy variations on the first two, like the young woman ahead of me. And sandals, sandals, sandals. Sandals galore, as well as flip-flops and open-toed shoes of all sorts. Summerwear.

I’m thinking about all this, and something about the young woman’s toes catches my attention. I focus on her petite right foot, that being the nearer one as she’s standing at right angles to me (her tall, skinny guy standing behind her, also at right angles to me, noticing me notice her foot, my eyebrows slightly knit with thought). And what I saw was a little foot with a normal big toe, a normal toe, a normal third toe. Something happened in the process of issuing the fourth toe ‘cause it was a little teeny, wrinkled bugger with essentially no nail, just the barest suggestion of a toenail. Shorter, actually, than the pinky toe, as if someone had retracted it for maintenance then couldn’t get it back out to pre-maintenance length. Three normal toes, then a shrunken midget of a fourth toe, then a somewhat normal pinky toe.

I’m looking at that and thinking about feet in general and how strange-looking so many of them are. (Like, for instance, what is up with the folks whose second toe is way longer than the big toe?) Not that I can talk. The toes on my right foot are long and a bit geeky looking; the toes on my left foot -- well, let’s just say they’ve never been quite the same since a major ankle break at thirteen years of age and a subsequent five-months of being crammed into a full-leg cast.

While I’m spinning my wheels about critical issues like feet/toes, the rental place’s resident puppy, maybe three, four months old, is having a laugh riot chasing and torturing a tough-looking fabric toy. He’s a beautiful, happy pup -- sleek dark brown fur, an intelligent face, paws that indicate he’ll grow up to be a good-sized retriever-style bugger. He runs to pick up the toy, mangles it happily for a moment before dropping it to look up at nearby people. One of the humans unfailingly picks up the toy, tosses it toward the other end of the space, four canine legs immediately scramble off in pursuit, the process repeats itself. A continuous puppy party.

Meanwhile, outside the shop’s windows at the three big recycling bins on la Calle de Hortaleza, someone is gradually stuffing an enormous bouquet of dead flowers into the circular aperture of the glass bin. Why not use a more appropriate receptacle, like a trash dumpster maybe? Got me. Could be they had their reasons, though -- what do I know? When I leave the shop, I see the person has two huge garbage baggies crammed with similar dead vegetation. Apparently the stuffing process has only just begun.

The mid-May sky is now staying light to a late enough hour that I sometimes find it disorienting. I’ll be walking somewhere, the light still reasonably full and strong, I’ll see that the time is 9:15 and feel the strangest sensation of being out of whack. No wonder I’m getting to sleep so late -- my body clock apparently hasn’t adjusted to the gradual shift. The day’s first light currently begins seeping in my windows around 6:40, 6:45. The sky remains illuminated until well after ten p.m. And since my body has adjusted to the meal schedule here, meaning a late dinner, I find myself getting a meal ready at 9:30, 10 p.m., or later. It’ll be interesting to see what happens when I’m back in the States a month from now.

If you’ve been to this page before, you’ve probably noticed the change in format. The current font may be a bit harder to read -- bear with me. This change has been a long time coming and will be, I hope, an interim step toward something better. Comments may now be sent via the whimsical ‘now say something’ link instead of being left in unsightly comment boxes.

In one of this journal’s last pre-format-change entries, I wrote about the festival of San Isidro which took place here in Madrid during the past week. I referred to San Isidro as one of Madrid’s patron saints, even linking to a webpage with a similar mention. A Spanish friend of mine responded with a comment stating categorically that San Isidro is Madrid’s only patron saint. Not so -- San Isidro is el patrono of the city, with a feast day in May; la Virgen de la Almudena is la patrona, with a feast day in November. (There are even those who claim the city has two or three patronas.) For more about her, see any of the following websites:

http://www.corazones.org/maria/almudena.htm
http://www.el-mundo.es/2001/11/10/madrid/1070112.html
http://www.fut.es/~jjj/atm/castella/ct21almudena.htm
http://www.ctspanish.com/communities/madrid/madrid.htm
http://biblia.com/pinilla/madrid.htm
http://travel.yahoo.com/p/travelguide/559537
http://www.archimadrid.es/princi/princip/otros/repor/corona/corona6.htm
http://www.lapasion.org/madrid/gpm.html
http://www.monumentalia.net/portal/pagina.asp?monumento=2774
http://www.softdoc.es/guia_madrid/cultura/fiestas.html

Later.

rws 9:15 AM [+]
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BLATHERINGS

August 2001
September 2001
October 2001
November 2001
December 2001
January 2002
February 2002
March 2002
April 2002
May 2002
June 2002
July 2002
August 2002
September 2002
October 2002
November 2002
December 2002
January 2003
February 2003
March 2003
April 2003
May 2003
June 2003
July 2003
August 2003
September 2003
October 2003
November 2003
December 2003
January 2004
February 2004
March 2004
April 2004
May 2004
June 2004
July 2004
August 2004
September 2004
October 2004
November 2004
December 2004
January 2005
February 2005
March 2005
April 2005
May 2005
June 2005
July 2005
August 2005
September 2005
October 2005
November 2005
December 2005
January 2006
February 2006
March 2006
April 2006
May 2006
June 2006
July 2006
August 2006
September 2006
October 2006
November 2006
December 2006
January 2007
February 2007
March 2007
April 2007
May 2007
June 2007
July 2007
August 2007
September 2007
October 2007
November 2007
December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
May 2008
June 2008
July 2008
August 2008
September 2008
October 2008
November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
June 2009
July 2009

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MORE FOCUSED BLATHERINGS


Travels:
London '01
Pamplona
Italy '03
U.K. '03
Sevilla
Casablanca
Stoke-on-Trent
Barcelona
Québec/Ottawa
Boston/Lisbon/Madrid
Italy '04
Montréal
La Sierra

Events:
Madrid -- arrival
9/11
Emergency Room I
Holidays 2001
Holidays 2002
Holidays 2003
Holidays 2004
Holidays 2005
A neighbor's passing
Madrid -- March 11 bombings
  and aftermath
Emergency Room II
Israeli friend/Madrid Marathon
Madrid -- Royal Wedding
The DELE exam

GONE, a novel:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10

THE BASTARD CHILDREN OF
JOE ROCCO, a novella:
-- Part 1
-- Part 2
-- Part 3

BURBANK SHRUGGED,
a screenplay:
-- Part 1
-- Part 2
-- Part 3
-- Part 4

Short stories:
Murphy's Wife
Another Autumn
La Queja de Una
  Hermanastra Muy Conocida

Autobiography
-- Personal History
-- Hormones On Parade
-- Accidents, Random Mishaps,
    Personal Problems

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


OTHER SOURCES OF WHOLESOME ENTERTAINMENT

People/Weblogs:
dooce
foxvox
fudge it
fear not
rebekka
bookslut
802online
idle words
madhaiku
wockerjabby
grow-a-brain
rebel market
letting me be
out and about
kung fu grippe
fanatical apathy
baghdad burning
wfuv's music blog
kexp's music blog
mimi smartypants
between the miles
just a hippie gypsy
the impossible cool
tomato can brushes
vermont homestead
sugar mountain farm

Good Clean Fun:
gizmodo
futurismic
postsecret
dave barry
human clock
mcsweeney's
spaceweather
book-a-minute
internet archive
self-portrait day
my cat hates you
out of context quotes
surrealist compliment
  generator
strindberg and helium

Makin' Musical Whoopee:
last fm
stereo8
pandora
soma fm

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ABOUT RWS/CONTACT





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