Pretty Things in Spain II

My initials in wrought iron

Pretty Things in Spain I

"Swallow Bird" matchbox art 

Ten Things I Miss About the USA (Right Now)

1. Free, unlimited water (from the tap! God forbid!) with meals in restaurants
2. Bagels
3. Wearing sweatpants, flip flops, or athletic shorts in public
4. My pets. And my friends. Oh, and my parents. And family
5. My personal space bubble
6. Rural life -- trees, grass, animals, flowers, barefootedness
7. Heat in my house
8. The clothes I've had to leave behind (my cowgirl boots, vintage dresses, and hoodies) (go ahead -- call me superficial)
9. Knowing every word I need to use (like steroid, astringent, or oxford shoe) off the top of my head
10. My piano

Miguelín Miguelón

I have a roof kitty. 

His name is Miguelín. (Mee-ghell-EEN).

This is him: 

"Meow?"

You may not be able to tell, but in the picture above he is sitting on an open skylight. Since I live in the attic, I have two lovely skylights that, when closed, are parallel to the slanted roof; when open, they're more or less perpendicular to it, providing a perfect kitty perch. And providing us a lovely (ahem) view of his kitty butt.

He visits me. Often. From the roof. We are thick as thieves. The kitty food and cuddles may have something to do with it...but I like to think he visits just to chat. And boy, does he like to chat. Here he is chowing down out of a salsa lid: 

The first time he visited was back in October. We'd just arrived, and it was still warm out, so the skylights were open to the evening breeze. We were cooking dinner, or cleaning up, and I was saying how much I wish we had a kitty around to play with. A few minutes later I heard a plaintive yowl. "Stop it! That's not fair!" I told L (the boyfriend. He wants to be encrypted here -- privacy or spy fantasy? You decide). I thought he was teasing me. He said, "It's not me! Look!" And there against the indigo sky we saw this:

"MEOOWW!!"

We see him pretty frequently, and his yowls have gotten more insistent as we've all gotten to know each other. He's not wild, because he lets us pet him and tries to play with us, and he's relatively clean and well-fed. We walked all around the block to try to figure out how he gets up to the top of a 5 story building. (L loved the wild goose chase trespassing on the building next door's patio). Here's the kicker -- there's no visible way for him to get from the street to the roof. The current theory is that he gets let out of another attic apartment for romps on the roof when it's nice out -- because that's the other thing, he never appears asking to come in when it's wet outside. Normally it's on days like this:

I'm working on trying to get him inside...the bribes are forming in my head...mmm...tunafish...heeeere kitty kitty kitty! And once I do, I am going to tie a note (loosely!) around his neck saying "I visit the nice people at 52 Cisneros St all the way up in the attic. Who do I belong to? Where do I come from? Please write back!" Imagine him going off like this on his delivery mission: 

But tonight it's rainy, so he is probably inside his cozy apartment, safe and warm, eating the food he should be eating and not begging from the neighbors. My carrier kitty adventure will have to wait. Until then, I'll leave you with a view of Miguelín at his most regal and commanding, overlooking his rooftop domain.

Friday Friday

Today is Friday, our restful-cleaning-farmers market-lunch-with-friends Friday. It's warmish and partly cloudy outside, the washing machine is rumbling away and shaking my little attic floor when it hits the spin cycle. I'm uploading CDs of traditional music I found in a back corner in my cleaning frenzy - from when old family friends (Hi Pete, Kelly, Walt and Clare!) visited this area last Fall. The fridge is full of delicious fresh veggies we bought from our favorite sellers at the market - note to self, post about the market, with PICTURES - there is a bouquet of fresh daffodils on the counter. The "Rushmore" soundtrack is on in the background, some cute Frenchy-French man crooooooning to me. I washed the dishes and made the bed! The windows are open! I swept the floor! There is so much to be said for motivation (a cup of Spanish espresso helps a whole lot), sunny days, new cardigans, and lunch with friends. Roast chicken is on the menu. Who knows what the afternoon holds? I have my eye on some shoes downtown... Ah, Spain!

...And We're Back

It's been so long since I've written. Unforgivably long. "Is Susannah still in Spain?" "Is Susannah still alive?" long. And I have no excuses, except that being here (yes, I am in Spain, and still very much alive) has become so much like "real life." That is, unremarkable, day-to-day, sometimes mundane, get-up-in-the-morning-and-go-to-work "real life," that I don't often find things to write about. When I first arrived I was so homesick and so awe-filled at every new aspect of my adventure that I felt like I had millions of things to report home to family and friends (and to the internet?). Except now... It seems like boring "real life!"


Only I need to keep reminding myself: Yes, it is "real life," every day is "real life," (hence all the quotation marks), except it's "" in SPAIN. Where I've gotten used to just about everything, but everyone at home could be still wondering about little things, like, oh, I don't know... How my students are this year, if I'm still in the same apartment, what little Spanish quirks I'm laughing (or cringing) at this week. So I've decided, after reading (and lurking on and being inspired by) many blogs, that I'll just do it. Just write. That's what I have the blog for anyway, isn't it? Little by little. Updates, whining, pictures, adventures, what I had for breakfast... it doesn't matter. I'm BLOGGING!

Fire!

Two weeks ago I was sitting at my computer (which faces out the window), and very innocently eating breakfast and reading emails. I looked out the window as I took a sip of coffee and saw puffs of smoke floating by... look! gasp!

The smoke was coming from little flames in a glassed-in balcony across the street. It was a breezy day, so even as I grabbed my cell phone and called Spanish 911 (112) I could see the flames getting bigger and bigger. There were some guys working on a roof below my apartment, and they'd stopped to stare at the fire. People began to come out onto balconies and lean out windows; I'm sure I wasn't the only person to call the fire department. I talked to the nice lady, who asked me all these questions I couldn't answer, like what the address of the building was and if there was anyone inside. Finally she told me the firemen were already on their way, and the flames were getting bigger.

(If you look closely you can see a Little Old Spanish Lady peeking out her window in the upper left corner)

In the distance we heard sirens, and the firemen pulled up and went running into the building. At this point the flames were huge and the roof was smoking; glass was cracking in the heat and falling in shards onto the street below. I couldn't believe what I was seeing; mostly I couldn't believe how familiar it smelled. Like a camp fire, or burned popcorn, or our wood stove at home. But that was someone's house, someone's home... Luckily there was no one inside, and no one was hurt. I had a perfect view of the jet of water coming from the inside of the apartment, spraying the flames and extinguishing them. Then the firemen came out looking very official and TV-like in their helmets and reflective suits.

I took a video of it; the pictures are one thing, but to see it in real time makes it seem more real.

The apartment is still charred and black; it seems like no one is living there, the apartment is still wide open to the air, and they haven't made any attempts to fix anything. I still don't know how it started - knowing the Spanish penchant for cigarettes I wouldn't be surprised if there was an errant spark somewhere.

So there you have it, my most recent adventure and first experience as a firefighter. Although by those standards anyone with a cell phone can be billed as a hero.