because then I just think about how hungry I am... which, most often, I'm not... I'm just really good at convincing myself.
Lately, I've been enjoying the easy, slow life.
Every day, I wake up between the hours of 7:30 and 8:30.
This is a lie.
I wake up on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday at these hours.
Then, I decide...
make tea, fresh squeeze orange juice, and a bowl of cereal
OR
walk the 100 yards to the hotel next to my house, eat a large piece of tostada, a steaming, creamy cup of frothy coffee and milk, with fresh squeezed glass of orange juice...all for 1,90 euros...
Friday...this is guaranteed. The rest of the week, I attempt to eat in.
Then, off to class. A bop in and through my classes for three hours. The time flies. Today, one of my first graders, during the middle of class, decided to leave his seat, come up to the front of class while I was writing on the board, and taps me on the leg. I turn around to see little Benedicto, whose head reaches my waist, "No puedo ver," with a surly look on his face. The teacher's laughing in the background at his commentary, to which I respond, "Lo siento, hombrito."
The little boy couldn't see. So, the obvious option was to leave his seat to tell me he couldn't see during the lesson.
DUH.
Days like these, I swim in the happiness, joy, and lightness of my day. It's easy to be positive among smiling, joyous faces that scream your name as you pass by... as I think, "I'm still that cool to them?! Go me!" The teachers understand me and I understand them... There are mutual joking seshes in Spanish... All of this comes and goes. The days repeat.
I walk the 5 minutes to my house and decide what to make...I made tortilla española on Monday. A process that consists of frying sliced potatoes in olive oil for 30 minutes. Add it to scrambled egg batter and cook. It's delish.
I have ground turkey, gnocchi, and zucchini waiting for me for tomorrow with a homemade tomato sauce. I eat for an hour.
Yes, I eat like an 80 year old woman. But, an 80 year old woman only eats pudding...and maybe a banana... in an hour. Due to gravity or something...The older you get, your body shrinks, and all the weight goes to your head...you get tired and eating gets harder because you have to hold up your head and open your mouth at the same time...That's why they sleep so much.
So, then I take a nap...echo una siesta...
Isn't that what you do?
Then, ughh, I have to get up. I turn off the brassero. This contraption that the Spanish invented AFTER they decided to stop doing cool shit once they had discovered the New World. Spain's history in American history book consists of Columbus and Franco... Next to be added this brassero thingamajig.
So, you sit down. There's a long tablecloth encompassing the length of the circular table (or rectangular...) Underneath, there's a heater with another silver cone contraption so you can't put your feet in. There are two settings: hot and hotter. This thing is God's only gift to Andalusia. They have extremely long, sweltering summers when the only thing that keeps them alive are their siestas. Therefore, the houses are built to keep out the heat. Sun rays, beams, lasers...NOTHING that could possibly keep a human warm should enter.
Speaking from experience. I can tell you...it doesn't.
I reluctantly leave my man-made heating experience, unplug it, as not to set the house on fire, and go out into the day--ray, shine, wind. I walk for four hours.
I walk to a house. Stop. Stay an hour. Try and convince their child that English is important. They ask me to play a game. I ask them if they know what "Can you speak English means?" They say, "Comó?" I respond, "Exactly." They repeat, "Comó?" with a condescending look of confusion on their faces (how a 9-year old can look so condescending when so confused is beyond me...these kids take after their parents in so many ways...) So, I repeat this process for another three houses. Four hours can fly or can crawl.
The days when it crawled, my Spanish was horrible, I wasn't used to the cold, and I found more refuge in a cold beer with "friends," who would put up with my broken Spanish because... well, I still don't really know why.
Now, three months later, I find refuge in my space. I'm comfortable here. I have my friends. I enjoy my life. But, I have been sick for the past months...First, with the flu...Five days in bed...Now, congested without much motivation to go out. I just keep thinking how little time I have left and about all of the vacations I am about to embark upon...Barcelona, Portugal, Rome, London... all in the next month!?
Then, I thank the universe for all of my blessings. I comment upon my experiences here because I believe that life is short... It passes us by. We regret not doing things. We place importance on the future--on money, on a house, a car, etc. But, we don't enjoy. We don't salvage. We don't experience. On Saturday, I spent 8 hours in the forest, camping. Then, Carnaval on Sunday dressing up as "cine negro." Friends and family are pillars. They are our support system. When one falls, it is the other's job to reinforce the foundation that the other has established.
Give and take. Wholly and equally.
Love today.
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