far too much writing, far too many photos

runswithscissors


Thursday, March 17, 2005

Lovely, soft spring weather began edging its way in here several days back, beginning last Friday, the anniversary of the bombings. Feeling like a kind of emotional counterweight to the heaviness of that week. Each day since then has grown a bit warmer, each night slightly milder, a trend so far showing no sign of turning tail and bolting. There are those who see it as a cause for concern, given that the peninsula has been experiencing its driest early spring in many years -- the elevation of temperatures with no rain in sight does not bring good cheer to farmers whose land is drying out. I've heard little complaint around here, though. Recent months brought wave after wave of cold weather to these parts -- the arrival of kinder conditions comes as a relief.

Tables and chairs appeared immediately outside some cafés and restaurants on Friday. The sight of people sitting outside -- eating, drinking, talking -- has become normal in the intervening days, the sight of winterwear (normal just a week ago) progressively more out of whack with the changing conditions. And for some reason, as the warm weather has settled in, self-talkers have come out of the woodwork, jabbering away with the air of those feeling newly freed from inhibition.

Last Friday, the memorial to those who died in the March 11 bombings -- 'El Bosque de los Ausentes,' a compact, sharply-terraced installation that, from certain angles, appears strangely bunkerlike -- was inaugurated in El Retiro. Over the weekend, thousands of people showed up to pay their respects.



The Commission investigating the events surrounding 11-M has been slowly wrapping up its work, all political parties signing on to its conclusions and recommendations except el Partido Popular, the center-right party that had been in power when the bombings happened and was turned out of office three days later. The PP is the direct political descendent of the Franco dictatorship, their lineage is starkly apparent in the ongoing unpleasantly aggressive comportment of many at the party's highest, most publicly visible levels and in their insistence that anything not in conformance with how they view things is weak, corrupt, etc.

And speaking of Franco, late yesterday evening, in a neighborhood near Nuevos Ministerios, site of the last month's massive skyscraper fire, a city crew materialized and began taking down Madrid's last remaining statue of the dead dictator. A small crowd gathered (most of those in attendance from the media, according to media reports), those from the left applauding the event, those from the right protesting, including a handful of lost souls calling out Franco's name in fevered homage, performing the fascist salute. Police maintained order, a crane lifted the statue onto a truck which quietly took it away. Nothing remains of the generalissimo (not to mention, given the equestrian nature of the statue, the horse he rode in on) but the base and the resulting news story.

Anyone paying attention to this little corner of my existence is aware that productivity here at rws has not been at its highest in recent times. (Also that my little camera seems to be getting tired of the exciting life it lives, or of the light here in Madrid, or of something. Because the quality of the images it's cranked out since returning to this part of the globe have been looking anemic.) There are reasons for this, some one of which I will actually share with you.

The reason: studies. Meaning classes. Of a daily kind. Because I've apparently decided to take one of the language certification exams that the Spanish government will be giving in May. Don't ask me to explain how I've arrived at a desire to put myself through pain and suffering -- suffice it to say that prior to this the idea of taking the DELE felt intimidating. And now? Not so freakin' much. Must mean I've reached a level of comfort with the language in some fundamental way. That or I simply haven't experienced suficient discomfort in recent times and am actively casting about for ways to reach my quota.

I've been given a couple of clear illustrations of my growing ability with Castellano a couple of times since returning to Madrid, one of being the couple of hours with Esperanza last Friday evening. She can get talking like someone who's got high-octone espresso on a drip-feed, I often find myself at least once during a chat with her struggling to keep up. Not this time. Got me feeling pretty pleased.

Next day: got me feeling less pleased. I found myself working with three South Americans -- from which country, never found out -- all working class folk with thick, slurred accents. With two 30ish Spanish guys, apparently from Andalucia -- fast talkers, slurring their words as many from the south do, dropping the ends of some words altogether. And more folks. Found myself sitting at a teeny little table, seven people crammed in around it eating a fine lunch Esperanza threw together, two more diners seated over by the window, plates on the sill. Two 30ish males conducted most of the conversation, engaging in that strange pasttime many of us humans seem to do: expressing opinions as if they were absolute reality. A kind of conversation I rarely interact with any more, preferring to simply listen, watch, see how other people are reacting (or in this case not reacting).


[this entry in progress]



Madrid, te quiero.

rws 3:57 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

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


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

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


ABOUT RWS/CONTACT





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