No titles. This is a post real transition. I'm home again which means back to see my parents, my sisters, my friends, no time to see everyone, eat two to three times, dinner and take so many countless cafes bars always . Who wants to see me, you have to make an appointment. I'm catching on left for breakfast. Many old friends, little time and lots to tell is a dangerous mix.
I again reached the Madrid de los Austrias, a little dirtier and emptier than usual. He missed the iced tea with peppermint Café del Nuncio , reeds in "The Beefeater Tavern" and have found at least Ten small restaurants that are worthwhile.
My friends are still teasing me indefinite acentillo always bring a souvenir, a former girlfriend is still remembered me (for good) and luckily, dark and dreary day in London seem a distant nightmare.
But still there .....
I can not help but feel guilty about feeling happy, when I know that, far from here in a small coastal town in Canada, Michelle and her family still in a deep, dull ache. I talk to her every day, trying to convince her to come to Madrid a few days and sometimes seems that there is a possibility, but it will be difficult.
Tomorrow I'm going to town alone. I want to recover the pure dawn of Castile, the silence of the night, the deserted streets lit by a yellow light bulb. I want to get the wake up at 7 with the rumor of herds that cross my street, go out and buy the white bread from the baker next village, eating the pine nuts that I still keep the neighbors of my grandparents, cover myself with a blanket night live without television. The latter is one of the greatest achievements of my grandfather always said he did not want that thing in your house and respect its will. I remember as a kid, when came to town after a trip that seemed to me very long, I spent two or three days protesting clowns can not see on TV, the "One Two Three" and drawings. Then as soon as I met with friends of the people (what will become of them?), I forgot the TV to the point that, after the summer, the tedious afternoons off in Madrid made me even more unbearable in the classroom, from programs that at first both missed.
My mother told me that there is still the radio that my grandfather bought in the fifties, a relic against which we sat at night listening "for the party." I remember there in the cupboard, awesome in its wood finish and ivory buttons, next to the Singer sewing machine from my grandmother. In the background the carillon, whose touch of hours at night scared me so much that my grandparents had to disconnect so I could sleep.
will also be the "glory" wood stove that was used both for cooking and for heating the iron with coals. ! What a delight in winter to sit in the kitchen and the smell of burning dried pineapple!
over ten years since the town floor. I have to stand the test of do you of who you are?, Which so embarrassed and discomfort caused me a child:
- And this young man, "Who is it?
- My name Arkimir
- You are a stranger right?
- I do not know (what will that be a stranger? That's what they say in Indian movies!)
- Oh, how funny! Did not he does not know if a stranger?. You must be of Velones right?
- Who are the Velones?
- So who will it be? Zorreras nephews, those who went to Madrid.
- ......
- do you have your tongue cat? What more cortico boy you are!
- My mother called my father Ramon Angelines and
- Go!, You are the grandson of the Schillings, the era of big?
- I do not know, my grandmother called Angeline, like my mother.
- Well, that's what I'm saying, Thou art the Madrid Shillings. Oh, I do not know what the capital who have come all as if you had taken a breath.
now speak the local dialect and you know who I am. The presentations will be much shorter.
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