drive along Spain’s coast
modern curves and old designs
walls peppered with salt
car
Just Like Home
four miles in mountains
sea-level city in view
small leg miracles
Drooping Blue Tents
we have a car
but are now so accustomed
to walking
that it sits in front of our building
we move across town,
the streets as familiar
as the smiles on their faces.
we order beer, wine,
and a baklava-like mirengue-topped
pastry that tastes like s’mores
and is gobbled up in two minutes
they stand in front of the circus sign
and we make our way across the bridge,
Reina Victoria in our back pocket,
coupons ready
for the first time we witness
the financial crisis
that weighs heavily on
the drooping blue tents,
kids as young as five performing,
throwing in camels, pythons,
and even Monster High,
holding up a sign at the end,
¡Viva El Circo!
while two-thirds of the seats
are vacuous reminders
of where people are
on a Saturday night
best. circus. ever.
is what my girls say,
never complaining once
about the long walk home
but all i can hear,
all i can see
as we move along rain-washed sidewalks,
their tiles as slippery as death,
is the American song,
“Unbreak My Heart”
whose Spanish rendition
and brightly-lit acrobatic act
brought tears to my eyes
the words
though they didn’t belong
the seats
though mostly empty
trampled out the desperation
that sits unspotlighted
in the back of every
slightly drooping circus tent
What I Miss
There are things I miss so fiercely that my heart aches. A good long, cold and isolated bike ride, breath steaming out of my lungs, coming across the deer along the fence, the perfect mountain view tinted by rays of morning sun, everything just coming into the dawn of a new day. My mornings, solitude and strength building me up for whatever I might face, knowing that I could face the world after that ride.
My recliner. Chosen by me, ridiculed for being too large, but so thick, soft, a perfect armrest I once used to nurse all my babies, it leaned back perfectly, laptop in lap, movie on screen, book in hand, the perfect piece of furniture for every situation.
My Hyundai. Not the car itself, its junky no-lights-on-interior nothing to brag about. Just the freedom it provided, piling the kids in on our latest adventure, trekking across town to the museum, the zoo, the reservoir… how I miss the ability to go anywhere, anytime, for them to share that freedom with me, to be able to explore the world without limitations of bus schedules, car rental fees, and finances.
The telephone. Being able to pick it up and call my friends, my parents, my sister, anyone, without having to worry about an eight-hour time difference, without thinking, what a fucking shitty day, I need to talk, and knowing that I can’t talk to anyone, any time, about all the things in life I need to talk about. That it really is just us, the five of us, and we have to figure out a way to be everything for each other in every moment, whether it’s my girls’ fierce insistence on me spending my last dollar on school uniforms I can’t afford because they already stand out enough, and they need to fit in, or Bruce hating his inability to communicate anything, or me running into one problem after another with the principal (what IS it with me and principals???).
Wal-mart. God, I never thought I’d say that. Wal-mart, I miss you! I know I cursed you every time I walked in, ridiculed your inability to keep items in stock, criticized your exploitation of Chinese products, your destruction of the natural environment. But I wish you were here to save me when I can’t find a decent store to buy what my girls need, to be open when I need to print out a bus ticket or make copies for lessons, to take back all my items without a receipt!! TO BE OPEN ALL THE TIME!! Even Sundays!
Microbrews. I don’t think any description needs to follow the smooth taste of a home-brewed Hefeweizen straight out of the tap from Dry Dock.
My oven!! AN oven. No homemade pizzas. No baking chicken or potatoes. No broiling steak. But above all and everything, never a chance, for a whole year, to make a single batch of brownies. I can almost feel the melted chips sticking to my tongue, the tiny crumbs at the bottom of the pan pinched between my fingers, the smell that filled the house for hours…
Again, my words, my beautiful words. Trapped here in this blog, lost to everyone here who thinks I’m just some stupid American who’s timid and speechless. Oh, how I miss my words.
Coffee and Cigarettes
Spanish homes are spotless. Mothers put on special aprons to clean and everyone has a mop set like in a restaurant. They may have round-the-house clothing styles such as sweats and workout shirts, but they will never wear these things in public. I have seen them actually change clothes to run downstairs to the grocery store at the bottom of their building! How strange they must think I am, showing up at their doorsteps clad in bike shorts, clip-in shoes, a cycling jersey and a helmet in hand. No wonder I get wide-eyed looks wherever I go. I’m sure they just put their surprise aside and say to themselves, “Those crazy Americans.”
Perhaps they’re right. We are a bit crazy, or at least I’m a bit crazy. Not so sure anyone I know would drag a family across the sea for a year in Spain, but I’m pretty positive there’s not a crazy enough person on the planet to ALSO drag her bicycle with her!!
I thought for sure that everyone here would walk everywhere, and that the public transportation system would be awesome, much more effective than in the United States. I am disappointed to announce that both beliefs are untrue. Spaniards walk. Hell, there are crosswalks every five seconds, and all cars obey them if a pedestrian is present (Boulder! I’m living in Boulder, a dream come true!!). But Spaniards walk two blocks to the closest market or cafe, and then they either drive (most of them have cars) or sit patiently for the bus to take them the rest of the one mile if they have to go any further than that. I have no idea how they have the patience to wait for a bus that takes them nowhere. The bus system here is completely ineffective. To get from my apartment to the center of the city, where anything and everything happens, it is an easy two-mile walk (or cycle!), or I can wait, pay 1,20€, and take not one, but TWO buses. Why would anyone in their right mind choose to wait and pay for a bus when walking is much better for the body?
Speaking of bodies, Spaniards are beautiful people. I have seen more attractive people here than just about anywhere else. And of course they’re all skinny. To go along with my original beliefs, I’d always assumed they were thin from having to walk everywhere. But that’s not it. Not in the least.
After a month of having to choke on the constant smell of tobacco, adjust to the Spanish siesta schedule where we have to wait from 7:30 till 3:00 to eat? I have finally come up with the reason Spaniards are so thin: coffee and cigarettes. They live for their cafes, and for the outdoor seating which affords them the ability to smoke at all hours of the day. Even the teachers smoke!! Ugh! I’ve never seen so many smokers in all my life.
I guess we all have our demons. Mine is a bicycle I can’t live without, theirs are appearances on every occasion (even an errand) and needing tobacco to make it between meals. No matter how we choose to make it through the day, I think we can all look at each other and say, “Vale. No pasa nada.”
Denver to Cartagena
it hits me when
i can’t shorten the syllables of this day
like ants along a honey line
cars creep along the dam
shadows immersed in lake sparkle
the afternoon of childhood
sun sets over a new sign
the Chipotle that began on Colfax
Time Magazine didn’t mention the street name
the longest running artery
the heart of my city
only the important facts
(a fast food all-natural revolution)
the reporter didn’t taste
sour whipped cream in a failing
Dolly Madison
nor did he see the long line of lights
run from plains to foothills
bright like a glowing snake
from atop of Lookout Mountain
he isn’t from the city i love
the city i’ll soon leave behind
for a penniless carless Cartagena
where we will walk
until Spain burns blisters in our blood
and remember the blue and orange sunset
the mountain framed skyline
the artery that bled a new generation of love
The Road
my summer review
reveals courage from within
found along The Road
Road Trip Haiku #16
her Iowa home
loving reminder of loss
warm friends i won’t see
Road Trip Haiku #15
Niagara Falls stop
memories of spinning life
river of now, then
Road Trip Haiku #14
my girls stand in front
the last time I’ll see Gorham
my childhood, my home
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