Brenda currently lives in Stoneham MA, but grew up in Mineral WA. She is surrounded by men, with two sons, one husband and two boy cats. She plays trumpet at church, cans farmshare produce and works in software.
The Old Burying Ground in Stoneham was opened to visitors today. For years it’s been opened on Halloween weekend – at the exact same time as the town trick or treating. So I haven’t been able to go. But I’ve been falling in with the historical crowd lately, and they realized that we parents love history as much as our kids love candy and were awesome to set up this great second session this year.
Familiar faces
My trip to the Burying Ground this last Halloween kicked off an extremely fun month for me. I was doing Nanowrimo with a friend. I saw this amazing tombstone with its rich old story of Jacob Gould “barbarously murdered by ruffians in his own dwelling” and I looked it up on Google. Google books led me to more of the story in Silas Dean’s gossipy 1843 history of Stoneham (which is right there an argument on how awesome the internet can be!) and I went down a monthlong rabbit hole of local history and lore while I wrote a werewolf book about the strange misadventures. I had an absolute blast, although I sadly have not finished the book.
I did learn what they found when they opened the three crypts. New life goal: be there when they open one of the three crypts.
Rare to get a government tombstone for a nurse
They had three reenactors there, all of whom were excellent. One played the role of a Civil War nurse (who apparently had to be older than 30, of high moral standing, and rather plain). She told the story of how Hannah was buried in sight of the house she’d grown up with, across the alley on Oriental Avenue. And I stood there, in ground set aside at the turn of the 19th century where were buried Revolutionary War heroes, slaves, native Americans and pilgrim-folk and I thought about what it is to be at home.
He could have seen Shakespeare’s plays as a young man.
Many of the people lying there were not Stoneham born. They came from England, Wales, Africa… or as far as from Maine or Connecticut. They came to a frontier town, or a sleepy bywater. They came to a new place and built a place for themselves there. When they died they consigned their remembrances to the uneven soils of this burying ground. Hundreds of years later, we walk by twice a year to greet them. And where they were strangers to me last October, as May came I greeted them instead as friends.
Mt. Rainier
My heart has long lain in the rugged stark mountains of the West. It’s a land that feels as though history lies lightly upon it. The stories of the people who first lived there have never been told to me. The stories of my people are short – the town I grew up in is just over 100 years old. There are residents who remember the first people there. But for most of my life, I’ve been FROM Washington.
I think that may begin to be changing. I’ve lived in New England 20 years. Sixteen of those have been in Massachusetts, and eight of THOSE in Stoneham. How can I turn my back on Deacon Silas Dean, Jacob and Polly Gould, Benjamin Gerry, Elizur Wright, Parker G. Webber and the cast of folks – brave, strong, moral, funny and complicated who have also moved here from elsewhere, and made it their home? Fortunately, the question of home is not one you have to put exactly one answer to on a form. We may come from many places. But as I learn more here, meet more friends, run into more people at the store, and walk even the graveyards with familiarity, I find myself more and more at home.
In a scant three weeks, the deluge of produce will begin deluging again. Farmer Dave is my farmer, and the farm share begins in June. Amnesia has finally set in after November, when the last of the produce was crammed into my overfull freezer and I gratefully contemplated the return of frozen veggies.
I’ve been thinking quite a bit about food in recent weeks, and not just that I need to clean out my ‘fridge before the Davalanche hits. Last week I had two interesting food experiences.
Violets, dandelions and green briar
On Saturday, the boys and I headed to the Fells for a hike and some good old fashioned foraging. We brought the book of edible plants with us. We quickly encountered violets and dandelions (although no ramps, which is what I was looking for). Suddenly the side of the trail transformed from scenery to bounty. My kids called wildly to say they’d spotted some more. Grey declared that violets were his favorite green. Thane gravely sampled the dandelions. We stuffed a plastic bag full, and ate some as we gathered. Green briar was a bit harder – we finally figured out that you just snap off the buds on the vines. You don’t actually take the vines with the thorns. Thane said these were his favorite, and got himself right scratched up in pursuit. (And in fairness, they were quite excellent.)
I figured the easiest way to get the kids to eat them easily was to make pizza with them. And that’s exactly what they did. And honestly, the greens were DELICIOUS.
Pretty pretty pizzaFully cooked deliciousness
The next day I participated in the Walk for Hunger. I thought ten miles would be easy peasy, but it was actually harder than I expected. (I was also breaking in new shoes, so that might have been part.) As we walked I thought about food, and quality food. I’m blessed by an abundance of food. (Based on my girth, it’s fair to say an overabundance of food.) So much of the food I eat is really high quality. And with access to wilderness without any chemicals, I can safely even add to that food with foraged findings I can locate based on an expensive book.
The Burlington Presbyterian Church Walk for Hunger team
So it’s easy to forget that many people are hungry. And many people fill their bellies, but with things that do not contribute to health. There was this great sign along the walk that said “The opposite of hungry isn’t full, it’s healthy.”
The walk has already happened, but the need hasn’t passed. If you want to do a part to fight hunger you can still contribute. It’s also not too late to sign up for a CSA. I love how Farmer Dave drives me to eat way more vegetables than I would otherwise, and to learn to love whole new plants. Most urban areas have great local farm share offerings, or farmer’s markets.
Finally, if you want some delicious dandelion pizza, I can hook you up!
8:20 pm – Sunday night. I’m completely exhausted. Wiped out is an understatement. I got up at an hour that begins with a “6” (after having gone to bed at an hour that beings with a 1… even if you’re on a 24 hour clock) in order to do the Walk for Hunger. Generally I’d rather walk against hunger, but I figured this was the year I’d finally join the faithful footsoldiers at my church. I thought a 10 mile walk would be no problem. Heck, I did 6.5 miles on Wednesday without feeling anything more than I’d had a good walk. I didn’t reckon how much harder it would be to do it all at once, in a huge lugubrious pack of people, on asphalt, in cold 50 degree winds in the overcast. I won’t pretend otherwise – the 11.5 miles I did this morning kicked my butt.
So by the time kid-bedtime rolled around, my lack of bloggedness was a weight on my shoulders. I mean, I know I don’t get paid for this. I know it’s not really that important. But I have made a commitment to 11 am on Mondays and by gum I try really hard to keep it.
I haven’t done so badly in keeping my commitment
Anyway, so I was brushing my teeth and thinking about what kind of blog post I should do today. My posts fall into one of about four genres. I was trying to figure out which one I had both a topic and energy for. Here are the general genres:
1) The autobiographical update
This is the easiest one to write. Sometimes when I’m really tired this is just a list of all the random post-its I stick in my head with with a note saying “possible blog post”. It’s more or less a collection of extended Facebook updates about my life. If I had to guess, I’d guess this kind of post is interesting to my mother and the nice lady from Minnesota who reads everything I write. And frankly, I’m not so sure about my mom. But this kind of post does serve a useful purpose. This blog is my journal. I could never prioritize a journal written for an unknown audience the way I prioritize my conversations with you. (In fact many of my old paper journals go on for pages pondering on what possible audience would ever be interested in reading about my deepest thoughts. Given that they’re adolescent drivel, this was a good question to be asking.) I deeply value capturing the meaningful moments and stories of my life. I preserve precious memories here. But I recognize that these posts are not riveting, and usually try to work harder to make the same information into a better written post.
2) Stuff I’ve learned
These sorts of posts are hard to write, but worthwhile for me. I usually pull together some sort of research I’ve been doing into the equivalent of a report. In the last two or three years, these have been almost entirely focused on Stoneham, my adoptive home town. As I’ve gotten a clue about the situation here, I’ve discovered how hard it is to develop an informed opinion without knowing people, and I’ve tried to share what information I’ve unearthed in a more public environment. I much prefer talking about the wolf attacks or the latest awesome thing I read in Silas Dean’s history than to wade into politics, but the political information is probably rather more useful.
3) The Perspective Piece
This is probably the kind of writing I consider to be the core of my blog. I take a moment in my life – really, I try to take the things I’ve been thinking about – and go in depth on them. This is where parenting, mortality, faith, why I can’t listen to NPR anymore, and how I feel about hiking all come out. I use the occasions of my life to talk about what that living means to me. At its best, I have a chance to work through the difficult thoughts. I actually find it really hard when the concepts I’m working through are things I can’t share with you – like a relationship that needs hard thinking, or anything about work. I have never talked much about work here, not because it’s not important to me but because I think discretion is the better part of wisdom for a hobbyist blogger. Looking at my recent posts, I’m not actually sure I do this kind of post as much as I think I do.
4) Big Concepts
These are the posts I aspire to; the ones I secretly hope will go viral. (Hint: they haven’t. I’ve only had one post go viral in the 13+ years I’ve been blogging, and that was about a tv show, which is ironic given how little tv I watch.) These are the posts where I feel like I’m really saying something meaningful. I hope to contribute a small voice to the great conversation across generations of writers about what it means to be a human. I don’t write very many of these, and they rarely get a lot of comments.
My tooth-brushing self, cycling through these known tropes, wondered which one you wanted to read, and whether you’d be annoyed at yet another autobiographical list of “stuff that happened” a la option 1. I thought “Hey, WordPress has a poll function! I could just, you know ask them. All I’d have to do is spend about 1000 words explaining the tropes to them, and then, well, I’d have my post!”
So, beloved friends, which is your favorite kind of MTP post?
The Parker G. Webber house is my home, and I love it. When we bought it in 2007, it had been on the market for over 100 days. There were a lot of good reasons for this. Every room had different wood paneling, and every ceiling had a different paneled drop ceiling. The kitchen was old. There are only 1.5 baths, and the .5 bath has the stairs to the basement it in. There was shag carpet. Best of all, the house was (and is) painted pink. But I fell in love at first sight, paneling and all. We have been chipping away on projects to improve the house ever since. We updated the flooring in the kitchen. We totally redid Thane’s room. We put in a fantastic roof, including all the wood underlying it. We attempted to fix the rotting window frames with paint (and failed). We mostly redid the full bath (except for the tub). We completely redid the dining room. We put a fan in the damp basement. We painted nearly every wall in the entire house. We have left it pink, however.
Oh so shag. And paneling.
Most of these projects were small in capital (except the roof) and larger in labor. But as the kids get older, we’re finally ready to tackle the biggest of the projects on our extensive Google Keep list of desired projects. We’re ready to turn the partially finished attic into a full master suite.
My to-be walk in closet
Right now, the attic is a kind of no-man’s land. When we originally bought the house, you still needed a dedicated office for your desktop computing needs. Adam and I also both had hobbies that required desk space… and no access for toddlers. He made terrain and painted miniatures. I stamped cards. The “bonus” room of the attic was perfect for hosting all these activities, while protecting them from the depredations of people who put everything they saw into their mouths. There was also an (unheated) guest room that hosted my mother-in-law or other folks when they came to visit, although there was general complaining about the number of stairs and lack of bathroom on the same floor.
The attic as office space
But as time went on, and we got laptops and didn’t want to be isolated from our family, the attic fell into disuse. A week or two might go by without going up there. That’s kind of a sad waste of space. It has been much better used lately, since it’s become the home of my brother, but with his new job (yay for him!) he’s getting ready to move out. So we’ll be able to tackle the project as planned.
We dipped our toes into the project plan. We talked to a few contractors. We hired an architect (and dear friend – awfully convenient) to do some designs for us. I created a Pinterest account to keep track of design ideas. Our architect came up with a brilliant plan for the attic. The office becomes our bedroom. We’ll lift up the low ceiling to give it more height. (It’s a joyfully familiar feeling as we talked about the original builder’s choices and wondered just what Parker did for the unusual roofline.) The unfinished attic space will become an extremely spacious walk in closet (now that the bats have been evicted). The weird 1/4 bathroom (just a sink) will be closed off.
The 1/4 bath was primarily used for beverage preparation
The guest room will become a lovely bathroom. This may be the part I’m most excited about. Our initial thought is to do mostly white tile, white wainscot partway up the walls, white wainscot vanity and a deep saturated blue paint above the wainscot. We will (hopefully) have a nice deep clawfoot tub for soaking. And the closed off weird partial bath will become a glorious closed off shower with steam-sauna. (If the budget allows.) We may never leave the attic again.
So anyway, chances are good that’ll take up a goodly number of my thought-cycles over the coming months. If anyone has a great general contractor on tap, I’d love to get recommendations. I’ll be sure to give updates – please let me know if they cross the line into incredibly annoying!
Bathroom inspiration (obviously not an exact plan)
I’m old enough to have nearly 20 year old friendships… that started in college. Ouch. One of these friends is a true globe-trotter. Spending time together feels a bit like waiting for our orbits to align long enough to get a chance to sit down and share time with each other. He’s ended up in Quebec City for a while, so we decided to take advantage of a few days around April vacation week to drive back up to winter and visit him and his lovely family!
We’re having a delightful time! We’ve rented this loft in the trendy part of the city (which was only slightly more expensive than a hotel room would’ve been). We’ve shared some excellent meals together, and spent much of today navigating mud and seeing the glorious views in this historic city, while enjoying what rumor has it is the first really nice day of spring up here.
The boys are becoming a real delight to travel with. I don’t worry too much about where they are. They’re flexible and fun and insightful. They can read over breakfast with their parents. They’re both really good with the younger kids – it was super sweet to watch Thane playing with a charming 1 year old girl.
A trip where you get to reconnect with the dearest of friends and enjoy your family in the warm sunshine… ah bliss!
I distinctly remember a moment a few years ago. I was talking with my mother-in-law about the stuff I was doing at church. (Honestly, I was probably whining about being too busy.) She sympathetically replied, “Well, tell them that they need to find someone else to do this. It’s not your problem if they can’t find someone else.”
It was at that moment that I came to the stunning conclusion that has followed me ever since. I AM “they”.
“They” have a lot of responsibility. “They” should really put a sidewalk on that busy section of road. “They” should get the word out about the local election. “They” should do something about global warming. “They” should change the sign at church to be more welcoming. I mean, if it was really important, “they” would tell us, right? We hear and say the words “They should” every single day. Maybe many times.
And when we’re kids, there are plenty of “them” to make this seem accurate. Classes are taught. Afterschool programs are organized. Special events (from Mother’s Day Tea to graduation) just seem to emerge as the normal order of things, and all we need to do is offer criticism on how “they” could have done it better. But at some point you take your own turn at being “them”. You organize an event (or help organize it). You get appointed to a committee or board (and are thrilled that people take you so seriously!). You have a responsibility at work, where something won’t happen if you don’t make it happen.
Suddenly, all that criticism of “them” takes on a whole new meaning. Don’t people know how hard you worked to make the event happen? The cooking the night before. Buying the decorations. Setting up the tables. Slaving over the serving. Cleaning up afterwards… and all people mention is that “they” should have made more coffee and “they” weren’t very organized with the presentation. Really? Knowing how much work goes into every event, I’m sometimes gobsmacked at how many events there are. It’s amazing! And so often, all that the organizers ask for is for people to come and appreciate the fruit of their hard labors.
I became one of “them” first at church. I was 22 years old when I joined the Board of Deacons. A few years later I was on the Christian Education committee, and co-lead the Youth Group. We set up the Sunday School classes, and organized youth activities. I had a more experienced partner, so the full weight of being “them” didn’t rest on my shoulders. But after Grey was born, when he became a mobile toddler, I just couldn’t lead the youth group anymore. That’s when my mother-in-law told me that “they” would need to figure it out. And that’s when I realized, I was “them”.
And most critically, it’s a great honor and opportunity. You see, my mother-in-law is Catholic. In the Catholic hierarchy, a woman like me might do critical and important work. She might make the important things happen. She might be organizing, communicating, setting up and cleaning up. But as I understand that hierarchy, the “they” who make the critical decisions and hold the final responsibility are the ordained men.
Last week, as everyone who is friends with me on Facebook knows, our town held an election for the Board of Them. I mean, the Board of Selectman. Four people competed for two roles to be the “them” that needs to put together and balance our budget, create a strategic plan for our downtown, preserve our historic locations, ensure sensible planning and comply with state regulations. In exchange for these labors – hours of work every week – we offer $3000 a year and constant complaints about how they do it. (Oh, and the campaign to get the job almost certainly costs more than $3k.) I’m astonished that people are not only willing to do this hard, thankless work of being “them”… they’re willing to compete for the job.
I am more than halfway through my allotted three-score and ten years. I sometimes feel like I’m in the heart of my powers. I have enough experience to know what I’m doing (most of the time) and enough energy and strength to do it. That’s why I’m so busy – I can do the things that need doing. When someone says, “They should”… I sometimes feel that as a personal call now. Because I know that I am “them”.
In what circumstances are you “them”? Why do you choose to do that service? Why do you think other people are willing to be “them”? That time in your life to thank “them” for all that “they” do.
So….. I didn’t make it to the “Write a blog post” portion of my weekend this weekend. Apologies. Instead, on this snowy opening day of baseball season, I’m offering a reprise of my love of the sport!
I don’t think I’ve ever experienced a baseball season that made me so passionately excited about football as this 2012 Red Sox season. I’ve been a baseball fan since 1995 – a respectable time now. I started as a Mariners fan and – without dropping my hope for the Ms to do well while bowing to the realities of being 3 time zones away – I’ve become an ardent Red Sox fan.
I’m definitely not alone in having come to Red Sox fandom in the last decade. I attended my first game at Fenway in 2000. 2001, for reasons that will be instantly understandable to those of you who live in the Northwest of follow baseball closely, I lived tied to the MLB broadcasts on my computer – up until late at night. After that, though, I started following the Sox. I lived through…
This weekend felt like the first time in WEEKS we’ve all been together. (I know it’s not true. It feels true.) I went to Seattle, then I went to California for nine long days. Then I went to Madrid. Then Adam went to Seattle. The busy times are tailing off, but not over. We have another weekend of apartness coming up. I have a customer coming onsite (which is very time consuming, if not as bad as traveling). But the light at the end of the tunnel is growing.
Learning to speak in math sentences
Big news this weekend came from the Russian Math department. Thane has shown a great passion for math, over several months. He LOVES to get a new concept and will go on at length about how much he loves math. The other day he calculated a fraction faster than either Unka Matt or I could. But he’s not so much into doing worksheets at school of the various concepts… so how to support him? It turns out there’s an advanced school about five miles from our house. (Maybe less.) I took Thane in for an evaluation on Thursday. The principal was very impressed with his acuity, and welcomed him into the advanced class with no prior tutoring needed. She’d like to see him in the competition team this summer, which sounds super fun, except for now I’m afraid that I’m becoming “that parent”. I just want to be the “that parent” who supports their child’s interests, not the one who demands genius ahead of joy. So we’ll give that a shot for a few weeks, and then decide about the summer.
Lined up and waiting to go hunt!
Saturday was just lazy and lovely. It started with the annual neighbor egg hunt. (The moms had stuffed the eggs the night before.) The kids crawled all over the hill and the grownups clutched our coffee. Grey has grown two inches this year. (I last measured him on his birthday.) I watched the “big boys” (ten year olds), mine with the white and blue-checked Easter basket I bought him when he was born, and wondered how many years we have left of Easter Egg hunts. I tried to enjoy it extra, just in case.
Grey, reclining with eggs and loot
In the afternoon, we went for a leisurely hike around the Winchester reservoir. I brought the foraging book with me for the first attempt of the year. It’s still very early for even the early early spring stuff. I thought I might see some wild garlic or ramps. We saw neither on our trip, but we did find a huge patch of wintergreen. We’d seen something earlier that I THOUGHT was wintergreen, but it didn’t have the identifying minty smell so we passed it by. My caution was vindicated because it wasn’t wintergreen, this stuff was! We carefully harvested a very small amount of a very large patch. Of course, I hate mint and it sounds like the most useful thing to do with wintergreen is infuse alcohol so… well… it was fun to gather. I have it soaking in water to see if we can make a weak sort of infusion. If I’d gathered more I could’ve made a jelly, but I didn’t.
Bridge building
The Easter celebrations in our church were good ones. We are still a little raw from loss, I think. This was our third pastor in as many Easters. But there were pancakes and music and children and cries of Alleluia! We had a superb dinner with friends afterwards, which was oh so good in both food and company. I learned a lot about Danish wedding customs!
How was your weekend? Did you enjoy the pascal celebrations?
I have pictures of the weekend which you can see here! If you’re particularly strong of stomach, I recommend the video of Grey reciting his “poem” with the classic refrain “I shall not pee. I shall not pee.”
Stoneham is headed to the polls again on April 5, 2016 which is in a scant TWO WEEKS! (How is it almost April!) Once again, this is an entirely local election, where it is SO HARD to get information on the candidates. In fact, I challenge you to go find a copy of the ballot anywhere online. Go ahead. Try. (I couldn’t find one. I had to email asking for a copy of it.)
This election is a little different for me in a few ways. The biggest difference is that I’m passionately enthusiastic for one of the candidates. I’ve known Anthony Wilson from his work on the Greenway, and I’m extremely impressed with him. That was a very fraught issue, with high feelings. Anthony stayed very factual, cheerful and always held to the high ground (even when I suspect it was tempting not to). His platform is centered on the crazy concept of “planning ahead” so that we capture capital requests in the budget and can make good decisions about where to allocate Stoneham’s resources. I think he will be a truly excellent Selectman for the town. Frankly, I’m really grateful he’s willing to run.
Thane thinks he’ll be a great Selectman too!
I’m also really impressed with Rachel Meredith-Warren, who is running for school committee. She’s done a great job of reaching out to the community. She was a primary driver behind the Stoneham Square Strategic Action plan, which is doing amazing things for our little town. She’s also been involved with a bunch of really good work in Stoneham like the finance committee. Again, I feel lucky she’s willing to give us her time and talent, serving our kids and our community!
After that, my recommendations get a bit murkier.
Selectman
We have two open spots for selectman, and four candidates. I have considered casting only one vote, since I have such a strong preference for Anthony. (That makes it more likely he’d win, since there might be a scenario where my second vote propels a candidate into a slot ahead of him.) Although I’m still considering that, I think the rest of the three candidates are varied enough in their strengths that it may be worth casting a second vote. (BTW – if you want to decide for yourself, many of the candidates showed up for a recorded candidate forum with Stoneham TV)
Frank Vallerelli – if I cast a second vote, he’s likely to get it. Unfortunately, he has almost no information available online. In watching the selectmen during town meetings, he generally seems like a reasonable person who listens to speakers and constituents respectfully.
John DePinto – I can’t recommend voting for Mr. DePinto. John was an opponent to the Greenway, which I find hard see as a far-sighted choice. I did not appreciate the way he dealt with the public during Town Hall meetings, and he wasn’t responsive when I reached out to him during the Greenway period. I find it a little depressing he couldn’t show up for the candidate forum to help us understand what he would do with an additional term.
George Seibold – I recommend against voting for Mr. Seibold. He has zero information available online, which I think says something about how much candidates care about new voters and folks who didn’t grow up in town. (I think that’s true of Frank Vallerelli too, if you’re wondering.) In addition to his opposition to the Greenway, in his last tour as a selectman he tried to build a prison in Stoneham. Someone who thinks building a prison in one of Stoneham’s most beautiful locations is a great idea (and defends that position with the amazing statement “‘Personally, I’d be retired before this is all said and done. So it really wouldn’t affect me,'”), while arguing a bike path is a dangerous innovation… well, that’s not the kind of decision-making I want again.
I have heard generally positive things about incumbent Anthony Kennedy and newcomer Carol Murtone, but if anyone has some information or links on those races that would be useful, I’d love to see them.
So with no further ado, here’s my ballot for April 5:
Selectman:
Anthony Wilson
Frank Vallarelli
School Committee:
Rachel Meredith-Warren
Housing Authority:
Carole Mustone
Board of Assessors:
Anthony Kennedy
I would love any (polite! I’ll delete anything that is rude!) feedback or information you have on the Stoneham election that you think would make me decide differently. A big part of the reason I post these election posts is because it is really hard to find information on the local election when you did not grow up with half the candidates. I think it’s really important to have this information available online. So please – if you have any conversation to have, let’s have it here in the comments where other voters like me can see it too and decide for themselves. I will update my recommendations if new information comes in!
I’m finally coming to the close of my period of schedule insanity. I’m not entirely done – the next two weeks remain unusually busy – but at least today marks my last planned travel for… well, ok I have another fun family trip planned April, but I don’t have to fly anywhere for a while.
After eating the last of my lemon meringue pie last weekend, I immediately turned to packing my bags for Madrid. I’d never been to Spain before, and the work agenda left little time for sight-seeing, but being in a new country is always a mind-opening experiencing. I ended up having several extremely fine meals, met many of the locals, and snuck in two museums after work on Thursday. Here’s what I learned:
Weird Madrid art and architecture
My Spanish is pretty decent, but very rusty
I spent years learning Spanish in school. I never have had the chance to live for even a few weeks in a Spanish-speaking country to move the “fundamentals are good, vocabulary is decent, overall not half-bad” level of fluency I’ve maintained for years to a real fluency. In the last six or so years, since I started really trying to improve my career, I haven’t really maintained my Spanish at all. I was wondering how it would work out in Spain. In most of the traveling I have done, English is more than sufficient to the needs of the day. It feels like everyone speaks some English. Even in Mexico, when I try to open a conversation in Spanish, they take one look at me and reply in English. (Sometimes I get a pat on the head for being an American who at least TRIES to speak another language.) But in Madrid, while most of the people speak some English, my Spanish was totally useful. The first night I went out with my colleagues, my Spanish was better than the waiter’s English, and I translated for the table back and forth. It felt amazing to have it be so useful! During our meetings, most of the folks I was working with were Spaniards. Periodically they’d lapse into discussions on some arcane point in Spanish. Because I shared domain knowledge, I could often follow along, and understand. The longer I stayed, the more of our conversations were happening in Spanish.
The Museums of Madrid
Last night my colleagues left and I was by myself, finally done. In the heart of the city, I headed to a park plaza Google maps had shown me, with some museums mapped. The public artwork of Madrid is odd – combinations of ultra-modern, near-soviet brutalism and baroque ornateness all intermixed in a way that says the city was once richer than it is now. The larger-than-life art deco statues stand above reflecting pools that have gone too long uncleaned. The museums were fun. I am no great fan of Chagall, but there was a retrospective of his and I spent an hour in a dark, cistern-like basement carefully studying his works. I think he might amount to something if he ever learns to draw. (I jest.) All the museum notes were given only in Spanish. But I read them, and I understood them. It was an odd moment – feeling almost Pentecostal to me in the unexpected understanding as the words unfolded themselves to me.
I also went to an exhibit celebrating Cleopatra. I’ve seen better exhibits of Egyptian artifacts in Boston, London and Istanbul. (For that matter, in Vienna as well.) My favorite part of the exhibit was the retrospective of Cleopatra in artwork. Half the time she looks like some silly ninny who just provides an excuse for the artist to show boobs. But some of the pictures of her were resplendent in meaning. My favorite showed her dead – her face lying in shadows – but the pose of her body speaking volumes of both pride and despair. Again, all the text was Spanish, and again I found myself understanding it.
So much delicious in one place
I’m glad to be an adventurous eater
Traveling in Spain is not hard. It was not at all like traveling in Africa, where every night you wondered what was going to happen, and cockroaches were the least of it. But on several occasions I found myself faced with a menu I couldn’t parse. (Menus are actually just about the hardest, since they use such arcane vocabulary – especially in really good restaurants.) I would ask what the most “Madrilleno” dish was (of a companion or a waiter) and then eat whatever they put in front of me. This week I had pig’s cheeks (I think), squid in it’s own ink, grilled octopus (twice) and a couple dishes whose provenance I couldn’t guess. Some of it was exquisite, and some was not to my taste. But I thought about how much more fun my life is because I am not compelled to be picky. I didn’t have to worry whether there’d be anything I could eat. I didn’t even have to limit myself to foods I could recognize from where I’d been before. I could pick the strangest sounding thing on the menu and say “That.” I am not sure how much pickiness is a choice, vs how much it is an inherent value. I’m just rather glad that I somehow got the version that lets me experience new things.
Water and wine are practically interchangeable
The water was super expensive and the wine was super cheap. On several menus, set up “price fixe”, you had your choice either of water or wine. That blew the mind of this Boston-based girl!
I’m really bad at a 24 hour clock
I thought I had an hour more to get to my gate this afternoon than I actually had. Good thing I’m obsessively early, eh?
This set of jet lag was particularly devastating
Perhaps it was because I was still recovering from Piemas. Or I’d been knocked off an hour by daylight savings. Or I was still finding my footing again after 9 days on the West Coast. But this round of jet lag was BRUTAL. We took a redeye in from Boston to Madrid, but they turned the lights on for breakfast at what would’ve been my midnight and so I slept not a whit on the plane. When we got out of the airport, it was nearly 8 am local time, and we hadn’t closed our eyes for a minute. Then each night, between the end of the dinner and the beginning of the next days work there were not 8 hours to be had. Let’s just say that my phone wasn’t fully charged when I had to get up in the mornings. (Slow transformer, but still…) Madrid is a late-night city. The restaurants DO NOT OPEN for dinner until 8 or 8:30! The cafeterias didn’t open for lunch until 1 pm. So we had the worst of both worlds – a Madrid-centric evening commitment and an American-created morning agenda. (Ok, that was totally my fault.) There wasn’t really a siesta to make up for it, either. I wonder how long it will take me to get back to Eastern Time. Hopefully that’s a better transition.
Apparently the hot new sport in Spain is called Padel
I’m writing this sans internet on a flight (I KNOW! Can you believe they expect me to go SEVEN WHOLE HOURS without teh intarwebs?!) so I can’t provide links. But my sources inform me that a sport ‘Paddle’ is all the rage. It’s played on half a tennis court, with a net and a solid paddle. It has playable walls, like racquetball, but is played with a tennis ball and isn’t nearly as fast. And it’s so popular that the folks I was with had Paddle courts in their workplace. According to my reliable sources, it’s very fun but it’s not nearly as athletic and hard on the body as either tennis or racquetball, and you can have fun playing even when you’re older. You heard it here first, folks.
You can see the stadium on the right here
Speaking of Sports
It’s a small sample size, but I’d say the city is more into basketball than soccer (aka football). I was personally saddened by the fact that the Real Madrid playing on Thursday was the basketball team and not the famous football team. I would’ve risked life, limb and pocketbook to be in the stadium for a Real Madrid football game. I couldn’t even summon up an “eh” for basketball. Also, my cabbies upon learning I was from Boston kept going on about Larry Bird.
How many great cities have no great body of water?
As far as I could tell, Madrid has no major body of water in it. It was weird to be in a city where you couldn’t orient yourself to the water. Even humble Merced has Bear Creek. We were trying to figure out how many cities have a layout completely unaffected by a body of water. Las Vegas, perhaps? Santa Fe? Which cities can you name?
I’m not sure what Madrid is like
Sometimes I’d see a building of brutalist cinder blocks, ill-kept, and think of Athens. We’d pass a glorious baroque building (City Hall was particularly lovely) and I’d feel the ghosts of Vienna. The narrow cobblestoned alleyways reminded me of parts of London. But in parts of five days, I couldn’t really get a feeling for Madrid quo Madrid. All the people I met were imports from other regions of Spain. Around meal time glasses of vino, the unsuppressable longing for a home far away (far different) would start to echo across their voices. I still don’t have a feeling for the city, and I can’t tell if one will be granted to me retroactively or not.
Google Fi is awesome
This summer when we went camping in New Brunswick (or as I like to call it “The Trip Where Everything Got Mildew”) we more or less had to shut our phones off after we crossed the border. Verizon’s roaming rates were appalling, and without a do-or-die reason, we had to do without. But as I landed in Madrid and turned on my phone it politely informed me that except for some voice calling, all the rest of my data and text rates were identical to what I’d be paying at home. I did not have to figure out how to navigate a major modern city without a phone. I can never go back – it was so hassleless. I already loved Fi, but this really sealed the deal for me.
Thus the business is concluded. The meals are eaten. The journey home more than half-flown. I return to a more normal cadence and routine to my life (and not a moment too soon – this has been months worth of travel packed into only a few weeks!) I hope my family still recognizes me. I’ve missed them!
My Truant Pen 