tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31011682008-07-23T17:16:16.582-04:00rwshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09521749388187417560noreply@blogger.comBlogger1235125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3101168.post-89863425296928249322008-07-20T21:05:00.003-04:002008-07-23T17:16:16.617-04:00

Had a yard sale yesterday, the first of the various pausing points I've been working toward in the process I'm involved in. A multi-family affair, three other households on the hill here bringing over carloads of STUFF and setting up on either side of my long dirt driveway. One of the upsides of the event: it's cleared out bunches of STUFF that have been accumulating in the two rooms in the

rwshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09521749388187417560noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3101168.post-48212104442907567952008-07-16T21:22:00.002-04:002008-07-16T21:45:29.845-04:00

3:30 a.m. -- Wandering blearily into bathroom. Drawing shades, peering sleepily through window. Outside, one lone star -- bright and sharp -- hangs low in the southern sky, a diminutive nightlight hovering above the small barn across the yard. In the yard, between house and barn, soft spots of light glide through early morning darkness, the air quietly alive with fireflies cruising for love.

rwshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09521749388187417560noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3101168.post-41854974780278410002008-07-14T20:38:00.002-04:002008-07-15T22:19:29.204-04:00

This morning (far too early), northern Vermont: España, te echo de menos

rwshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09521749388187417560noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3101168.post-8982571741275176222008-07-13T17:26:00.001-04:002008-07-14T20:56:12.965-04:00

It's chilly here today. Cold, dark, with rain spitting down from time to time. A bit of meteorological backsliding, weatherwise, to this year's version of May/June. Conditions that have me hiding indoors, grousing about the gray world outside, spending far too much time online. Thankfully, birds continue singing outside the house, which helps. And no snow has fallen, something I sincerely

rwshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09521749388187417560noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3101168.post-8531068323838233932008-07-07T13:50:00.004-04:002008-07-07T14:01:47.989-04:00

[continued from previous entry] A long morning of breakfast, espresso, and a lovely tortilla española thrown together by C. in an attempt to show me how to do it. "Fácil," she kept saying. "¡Facilísimo!" Maybe to her. There were enough steps in the process that it didn't seem quite so easy to me, especially the part where it gets turned over. (Didn't go so well for C., and while the product

rwshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09521749388187417560noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3101168.post-54126300203171763462008-06-30T20:08:00.003-04:002008-07-07T14:00:50.326-04:00

Rain. Big, excessive quantities of it falling on a daily basis. Enough that grass has been sprouting up as if on steroids, thick and lush, growing at impressively supersonic speed. (Something that might not catch your attention so much if you aren't the person who has to push a lawn mower through it all.) Last Thursday: two friends from Spain -- J. and C.-- passed through on a whistle-stop

rwshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09521749388187417560noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3101168.post-30345283170389161512008-06-21T18:29:00.003-04:002008-06-24T09:10:40.831-04:00

In recent days: -- Walking into the bathroom on one of the only recent overcast-free nights to find a long slanted rectangle of moonlight on the wall, shining softly. Stepping to the window revealed the moon itself, three-quarters full, sailing low in the southeastern sky, fireflies providing gliding dots of counterpoint, flashing in the air above the grass. -- Standing shin-deep in the back

rwshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09521749388187417560noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3101168.post-18789731336885062122008-06-12T18:51:00.004-04:002008-07-10T07:15:13.118-04:00

Tuesday morning: me, crammed into a dental chair -- at full recline, pointy boots waving around in the air down at the other end of the chair -- two female dental professionals looming over me, my mouth bristling with implements of dental wackiness. The occasion: my first filling in quite a few years. This filling replaced one received years ago (which in turn had replaced yet another

rwshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09521749388187417560noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3101168.post-80354530148663080552008-06-06T17:37:00.004-04:002008-06-06T17:54:27.830-04:00

Have been thinking about the differences in the way I experience life between here and Madrid. When I think about the daily flow of my day there, the data flow seems principally visual and aural. The other senses play their part, but those two are seem to produce the experience of the day in thinking about it from this remove. The visuals are a major component here, the local world being so

rwshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09521749388187417560noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3101168.post-28276671269053389712008-06-01T16:47:00.015-04:002008-06-02T17:46:42.909-04:00

Have spent the last 24 hours getting used to the sound of rain falling. During the day, with the windows open, the soft sound of it falling on countless leaves. At night, windows closed, the sound of it pounding on the roof -- concentrated, insistent. Somewhere during the course of the last few days, the warm season finally took hold. The beginning of the week brought cold nights, cold enough

rwshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09521749388187417560noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3101168.post-63823183744045342702008-05-22T06:42:00.004-04:002008-05-22T19:00:31.522-04:00

Since returning to the west side of the Atlantic (leaving behind sweet, full-bore Madrid springtime for Vermont's slow, teasing, often fickle turn from late winter toward the warm season), have been dealing with the backwash of the last months in Madrid and the prospect of making drastic changes in what remains of my life in this part of the world. Vermont countryside slowly shifts away from

rwshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09521749388187417560noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3101168.post-32591602647088929792008-05-12T19:19:00.002-04:002008-05-12T19:26:23.921-04:00

This evening, northern Vermont: España, te echo de menos

rwshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09521749388187417560noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3101168.post-61244171595120570832008-05-02T17:40:00.008-04:002008-05-05T17:21:11.361-04:00

This afternoon: standing in a bank in Montpelier, Vermont, writing out a deposit slip in the amount of one dollar in pennies. Realizing at some point that they had a radio station piped in, my hand stopped writing as the music registered, Brian Wilson's voice soft and clear, singing 'Good Vibrations.' Which for some reason triggered a memory from this last Tuesday morning, me sweeping the

rwshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09521749388187417560noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3101168.post-82229171666509543082008-04-29T14:43:00.004-04:002008-05-02T06:14:39.956-04:00

[continued from previous entry] These final days here in this flat have turned out to be -- and this is not a phrase you will hear from me very often, given that I tend to live a charmed life -- a fucking disaster. One reason: las obras –- the rehab work that has been going on for more than 3-1/2 years in this building (more than 3-1/2 years!!) -- returned to the teeny hallway on this floor

rwshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09521749388187417560noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3101168.post-73212643618822784992008-04-26T12:57:00.006-04:002008-05-02T06:17:02.116-04:00

[continued from previous entry] I've done this back and forth thing a lot, a bunch of times, yet I seem to completely forget certain aspects of the experience until I'm immersed in them all over again. Like the way time seems to begin accelerating when the day of departure is five or so days off. Literally seems to begin picking up speed and momentum. A function of the number of things

rwshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09521749388187417560noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3101168.post-74550909929064913062008-04-24T18:02:00.008-04:002008-04-26T12:56:56.396-04:00

[continued from previous entry] Before leaving, went for a fast look at my brand new rental space, home to my modest heap of rubbish for the next twelve months. Out of the office into chilly air. Up stairs. Up more stairs. Down strange surreally artificial-looking hallways (floor, walls, doors (all identical apart from their numbers), more doors, still more doors, fluorescent lighting). All

rwshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09521749388187417560noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3101168.post-72306785768763879222008-04-22T10:31:00.007-04:002008-04-24T18:02:06.319-04:00

Last Friday morning: gray, cool, rainy. (One of a series of a.m.'s like that, the week turning away from spring, back toward late winter). I made my way out early, through the piles of plaster fragments and swirling dust created by the workers slowly destroying redoing the walls inside this old building. Bought the paper, hopped the Metro, began a long trip out to an industrial park not far

rwshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09521749388187417560noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3101168.post-51459054087196013342008-04-15T11:15:00.006-04:002008-04-17T10:38:33.669-04:00

If I were forced to describe the recent state of this life of mine, I would have to say: not so much a soothing garden party as a jaunt in a burning plane piloted by some head case on acid. Strange, hair-raising twists and turns. Big emotions. With the details of the daily ride designed to cause unrest. On the other hand, after several days of rain -- spring replaced by a cooler, less

rwshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09521749388187417560noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3101168.post-3715884458510326092008-04-07T08:08:00.005-04:002008-05-24T04:32:48.416-04:00

In recent days: James Taylor songs playing everywhere -- from the windows of a car passing on Gran Vía; blasting from the door to a tienda here in the barrio; drifting faintly out the open window of a flat, playing in the background on the radio in a morning caffeine joint as I worked my bleary way through an espresso and a croissant, paging through a morning newspaper. Machine Gun Kelly, You

rwshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09521749388187417560noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3101168.post-30231575330615737952008-04-05T13:36:00.003-04:002008-04-06T10:25:57.112-04:00

These last few days have brought springtime to Madrid, the genuine item. Four or five days in a row of temperatures drifting up into the ‘70's, sunlight flooding the barrio's narrow streets. A long enough stretch that cold weather coats have all disappeared, apart from those worn by some older folks during the hours of morning chill. Around midday, the bars scattered around the plaza down the

rwshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09521749388187417560noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3101168.post-27298081589278426852008-03-29T08:25:00.007-04:002008-03-30T14:53:43.476-04:00

[continued from previous entry] It's hard work writing about all this. It's hard work thinking about all this. I'm not especially anxious to dig into it, but it's what is happening in my little life, and with each passing day it feels more apparent that a moment is taking form that has to be engaged with now. If not for any concrete steps just yet, then for sifting through it all in advance

rwshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09521749388187417560noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3101168.post-26908541521762516662008-03-27T14:23:00.005-04:002008-03-29T08:25:32.218-04:00

[continued from previous entry] That all-encompassing version has underlain underloin been something I've felt underneath the ongoing living of what passes for my life these last months. Not something I'm overjoyed about, but it's the way it's been. I've been living by the seat of my pants since I fled the States in the summer of 2000. (Where exactly did that turn of phrase come from? How

rwshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09521749388187417560noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3101168.post-25433458677948810972008-03-25T10:02:00.006-04:002008-03-27T12:50:12.578-04:00

[continued from previous entry] Anyway, face of pain, blah blah blah. The café in which we sat -- remember that café? -- is often crowded, and the crowd sometimes brings with it little bitty critters. Babies, dogs. As S. and I sat talking, a teeny canine trotted past, happily heading toward the rear of the establishment. Its carefree passage caught my attention, brought an immediate smile to

rwshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09521749388187417560noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3101168.post-90208989065001554182008-03-23T07:56:00.012-04:002008-03-25T10:01:47.407-04:00

[continued from previous entry] At that point, she paused, expression showing tentative concern. "Tienes cara de pena," she commented (literally, "you have a face of pain," always a fine thing to say to a friend). "¿Te encuentras bien?" Part of what she saw was left over from the earlier internet ugliness, but part had to do with lack of sleep. I chose to talk about that. Part of what I've

rwshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09521749388187417560noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3101168.post-21393521480688993492008-03-20T18:59:00.006-04:002008-03-23T07:55:49.917-04:00

I can't really explain why, but every single year I seem to forget all over again what Semana Santa (Easter Week) is like here, so that each successive one takes me by surprise. As if I suffer from a strange Easter Week mental block, as if an Easter season during my now-comfortably-distant childhood brought the kind of terrible trauma that can trigger a super-specific protective response. Monday

rwshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09521749388187417560noreply@blogger.com