martes, 30 de diciembre de 2008
Lo primero que me percaté es que desde muy pequeña/o te anulaban la sensibilidad. Yo era muy sensible, llorona. En cuanto lloraba ahí estaba mi madre para darme dos bofetadas diciéndome que no llorara. Me tragaba las lágrimas. Esto me pasó muy a menudo. Mi madre era MUY pegona (hoy en dia hubiese sido maltrato infantil aunque exageran porque al fin y al cabo ha hecho que sea una persona fuerte) y ya sabemos que el País Vasco es un matriarcado. Las madres marcan la pauta de la educación. Lentamente me fuí transformando en un pedernal. Luego “el que dirán” pesaba mucho, mucho. Un dia que le ayudé a mi amona (abuela) a lavar los platos, vino una visita, le dijo a mi amona que qué limpio estaba todo, yo salté y le dije, muy orgullosa “yo he lavado los platos”. Enseguida mi amona me contradijo y sonriendo le dijo a la visita que no, que yo era muy fantasiosa y que no era verdad. Mucha hipocresía. Entonces si mezclamos todo esto, falta de sensibilidad, “el que dirán”, e hipocresía tenemos parte del cocktail perfecto para alimentar a estos criminales y a sus secuaces. Tan simple como eso. El problema de algunos vascos (menos mal que van siendo minoría) es que NO se atreven a ser LIBRES. A decir lo que verdaderamente piensan, lo que sienten. Son pedernales y eso lleva a la locura. Muchos son locos de atar. A mi me salvó Canada, si no ahora estaría en un manicomio. Seguro.
On Sunday 28th December, I read an article by Javier Cercas in “El País Semanal” wanting to know, to understand the ETA monster and its followers in the Basque country. OK, I'm going to give you my opinion. I don't want to offend anyone, it's my personal, subjective and non-transferable childhood memories in the Basque country before going to Canada.
The first thing I noticed is that from a very young age they mined one's sensibility. I was a very sensitive child—a cry-baby. As soon as I cried there was my mother giving me two good spanks and telling me NOT to cry. I swallowed my tears. This happened very often because my mother was very quick with the hand (nowadays it would be considered child cruelty although they exaggerate because all in all it has made me a stronger person) after all, the Basque country was a matriarchal society. Mothers ruled the education of their children. Slowly, I became harder than stone. Also “what people say” is a very strong feeling to take into consideration. One day that I helped my grandmother washing the dishes, a visit came and marvelled at the cleanliness, I, very proud, said I had washed the dishes. My grandmother poo-pooed what I had said, saying to the visitor that I was a very imaginative child and that it wasn't true. Very hypocritical. So, if we mix all this, lack of sensitivity, “what people say” and hypocrisy we have part of the perfect cocktail that feeds these criminals and their followers. It's as simple as that. The problem of some Basques (thank goodness they're becoming a minority) is that they DON'T dare to be FREE. To say what they really think, what they feel. They're rocks; and THAT leads to madness. Many are crazy. Canada saved me, otherwise, I'm sure I would've been in a nut house right now. For sure.
domingo, 28 de diciembre de 2008
How much longer do the Palestinians have to suffer their terribly inhumane situation and put up with the barbarous and merciless Israeli attacks before the world reacts??
jueves, 25 de diciembre de 2008
Por cierto fui vestida con mi "uniforme" que solo me lo pongo en estas fechas: jeans (vaqueros), jersey de angora azul eléctrico con lentejuelas azules eléctricas y chaqueta de lentejuelas de diferentes colores. Parezco Elvis Presley y/o un arbol de Navidad.
Today I spent the day in C'an Plácido (those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, please see my post on same). Yesterday, Christmas Eve, I spent it for the first time in my life, all alone. I made myself a delicious bacon and tomato sandwich and toasted a glass of wine to my daughters, my family and all my beloved bloggers, and off to bed. I was enchanted! But, today, my dear friends who live in my old house "C'an Plácido" insisted and re-insisted that I go and have Christmas lunch with them. I went. It was a delicious lunch made with the leftovers of the previous evening's meal. I had a great time. We were five, the couple, their ten-year-old daughter, my dear friend Johnnis (please see post I wrote about her) and me. The day was half cloudy/half sunny, cold but comfortable. Spending Christmas day in C'an Plácido brought me bitter-sweet memories but pleasant. We talked, ate, drank, played "Pictionary". All in all, it's what one does at Christmas don't you think?
By the way, these days (Christmas, New Year's) I wear my "uniform" which is made up of jeans, an electric blue angora sweater with electric blue sequins and a jacket made of different-coloured sequins. I look like Elvis Presley and/or a Christmas tree.
viernes, 19 de diciembre de 2008
NO LO TRADUZCO PORQUE NO ME DA LA GANA. SORRY, NO TRANSLATION BECAUSE I DON'T FEEL LIKE IT.
lunes, 15 de diciembre de 2008
SI QUEREIS FIRMAR PARA SU LIBERACIÓN AQUÍ: http://www.ipetitions.com/petition/iwffomuntatharalzaidi?e
I have a wonderful Iraqi blogger (see web above) who is opening my eyes on the very, very unfair and cruel situation of her country and her people, as well as learning about the Arab situation in general. Today she has written a post on this national young hero who was brave enough to throw TWO SHOES at that idiotic criminal Bush. Too bad he missed! As I've told her, Muntather is NOT only THEIR HERO but OURS as well. Now we have to do something, write about him in our blogs, in order for him not to be killed!! I'll tell you a little bit about him: Muntather Al-Zaidi is 28 years old, he is a journalist of the independent, anti-occupation, anti-sectarian TV AL-BAGHDADIA. He graduated from Baghdad University, he was kidnapped and tortured, when he was freed he retook his job at this TV station. Please, as I say, we MUST do something, write about him in our blogs, in order to SAVE him. Thank you.
IF YOU WANT TO SIGN FOR HIS FREEDOM PLEASE SEE LINK ABOVE
domingo, 14 de diciembre de 2008
Esas primeras navidades en Toronto... lo que sí me gustó es que estaba todo nevado y todas las casas tenían en el jardín un pino lleno de bombillitas de colores y las casas tambien estaban cuajadas de luces por todos lados, dentro y fuera... pero estábamos solos mis padres, mi hermano y yo. ¡Qué tristeza! No había jóvenes que vinieran a cantar villancicos. Tuvimos una cena normal y nos acostamos. Así todos los años. Hasta que di con Fernando y su/mi fabulosa familia. Ahí sí disfruté muchísimo pasándolas en Lisboa o en Madrid, con los niños que montaban piezas de teatro y nos deleitaban con su gracia e imaginación. Risas a raudales, bailábamos... ¡eran geniales!
Ahora en Ibiza ya paso de las navidades, la verdad.
I'll never forget the first Christmas I spent in Toronto. It was horrible. I remembered my Christmasses in my grandmother's country house in the Basque Country where we used to gather with my aunt Mercedes and uncle Gerard who came from Barcelona and, of course, my parents and brother. We used to have a delicious dinner of roasted blue-fish and stuffed capon plus the typical Spanish sweets, "turrón" and marzipan. After dinner the "Olentzeros" always appeared, four young men with their berets, long blue shirts, fisher-men's trousers, white woollen socks and "abarcas" (special leather sandals) holding four pieces of wood which held a nativity scene. They sang the "Olentzero" and other traditional Christmas carols. This went on the whole evening with other young men showing up. We used to give them money and they left happy as larks.
That first Christmas in Toronto was completely different. Alright, there was snow plus Christmas decorations all around, pine trees full of lights, houses lit all over inside and out, which were very nice but it was just the four of us! So sad... No one came to sing Christmas carols... We ate a normal dinner and went to bed. This went on for many years; until I met Fernando and his/my family, THEN I had wonderful Christmasses either in Lisbon or Madrid. The children used to set up small theatre scenes which used to delight us with their imagination. We laughed, danced and, generally, had a great time!
Now, in Ibiza, I'm fed up with Christmas and normally don't celebrate it.
viernes, 12 de diciembre de 2008
SORRY NO ENGLISH TRANSLATION FOR THIS POST AS IT IS VERY LOCAL, SPANISH INFORMATION. IT WOULDN'T MAKE SENSE TO ANY ENGLISH-SPEAKING READERS WHICH I DOUBT COME AND VISIT ANYWAY...
miércoles, 10 de diciembre de 2008
One of my dear bloggers has dedicated a very kind post to me. He summarizes part of my life, read in my previous posts, in a very gracious and humorous way, therefore, I wish to dedicate this humble post to him. It's too bad I'm so cyber-illiterate that I'm not able to put a picture of him as he has done with me (he's put two pictures) but I know he understands and forgives me. If anyone wants to read it (it's in Spanish) you can do so at the above link. THANK YOU MY DEAREST MARCELO! I'm very moved.
lunes, 8 de diciembre de 2008
Sería el año 1975 cuando Gorri, Santamaría (vilmente asesinado por ETA) y Javier I., los propietarios del KU de San Sebastian, vinieron a verme a "La Familia" para preguntarme qué me parecía el hecho de que les hubieran ofrecido el "Club San Rafael" por diez millones de pesetas (es que en aquellos años yo conocía muy bien la isla y sus gentes y como era vasca, al igual que ellos, pues vinieron a consultarme). Les dije que me parecía una ganga porque el lugar era muy privilegiado (en el alto de un montículo, con unas vistas preciosas sobre Ibiza ciudad) y es que el "Club San Rafael" nunca había funcionado muy bien porque los guapos/as de la isla nunca se movían más lejos de Pachá y Glory's (otra disco famosa de la época) que eran los que daban fama a los lugares. Como el "Club" se encontraba en la carretera a San Antonio, pillaba muy lejos para que esta gente acudiera. Les aconsejé que lo compraran y que luego hicieran algo especial para atraer a estos guapos/as. Lo compraron y el primer año decidieron explotar el restaurante solamente, no la discoteca. Hicieron un restaurante vasco con Subijana al frente que tuvo relativo éxito pero la verdad es que se desperdiciaba una gran parte de el aforo del local. Al año siguiente ya hicieron la discoteca y el restaurante fué de cocina internacional. El lugar tenía una piscina muy hermosa con un gran dragón como tobogán. Al principio no iba nadie. Les dije que tendrían que hacer algo diferente para atraer a los guapos/as, no sé, inventarse una fiesta especial o ¡algo! Dicho y hecho. Dieron una fiesta dónde los camareros iban regalando fruta en grandes bandejas. La voz corrió como la pólvora y ya se empezó a llenar. Luego tuvo unos años esplendorosos porque fueron los primeros en la isla en montar fiestas. Recuerdo que todos los Sanfermines, soltaban vaquillas. Otra dónde el que quisiera se subía a un globo. Luego tuvieron shows fantásticos, vi a Freddy Mercury y Montserrat Caballé inaugurar su famoso "Barcelonaaaaa". Durante años fue un lugar muy famoso. En los ochenta, cuando venía de vacaciones, solía aparecer por el KU. En el '89 hablando con Gorri, me dijo que estaba harto que ya no podía mas. Le sugerí que lo vendiera ya que su fama estaba muy consolidada. Me dijo que le habían ofrecido unos quinientos millones (de pesetas) pero que no quiso vender por la nacionalidad de los compradores. Ese año, fue el último que vine a la isla. Cuando volví en 1995 me enteré que el KU quebró, se quedó en bancarrota. ¡Las vueltas que da la vida!
Por ahora no me apetece traducirlo porque me ha salido bastante largo.
I don't feel like translating it, for the time being, because it's a bit too long.
jueves, 4 de diciembre de 2008
I've decided to write a frivolous post today, thereby, giving more publicity to my dear friend, Ricardo Urgell, owner of this mythic disco of Ibiza. Ibiza's "Pacha" opened in 1973. It was an old countryhouse at the other side of the port of Ibiza city. It was VERY far to go to Pacha because one had to go around the old road to Sta. Eulalia, unlit, and reach the other side of the bay where there were only countryhouses, vegetable gardens and open fields. Since we had the "La Familia" restaurant, after we finished work, Fernando, our children Pancho, Fatima and I used to go to Pacha. It was great! Only one of the halls was open, the one to the right, the one to the left only opened in the summer. We all knew eachother, therefore, it was like a private party. As a matter of fact whenever a tourist showed up in the Spring, we all looked at him/her with disdain thinking "the season has begun!" and we would be left without "our" private club. The music was simply the best: The Rolling Stones, Janis Joplin, Bob Dylan and his "Hurricane", The Bee-Gees, Gloria Gaynor and her "I Will Survive" which used to drive me wild! Oh, what exercise I did in those years dancing my feet away! I loved it. The end of the evening was sublime! At around 01:00 a.m. the closing song was "So Spoke Zaratrusta". In those years "After's" didn't exist. The nightlife of Ibiza at the time was quite charming and fun. "Pacha" nowadays has become a "landmark" of the island.
miércoles, 3 de diciembre de 2008
I'm SO fed up with these damned criminals that I don't know what to say. Simply offer my condolences to Mr. Uría's family.
lunes, 1 de diciembre de 2008
Especially for my friends from Burgos (so that they see some snow...), my old Ellsworth Avenue of Toronto where I lived in the '80's. Nº 50 was our house. If you like to know more about it, please read my old post "50 Ellsworth Avenue". I have another picture of the house but since, before, I tried to post it and didn't come out, I don't want to push my luck so I'll leave only this one of the street. (You can see this post in the above site, anyway it's from Feb, 2008)
miércoles, 26 de noviembre de 2008
In my genes I have Magyar blood. Yes, one of my ancestors--my great-great-grandfather--was Hungarian. As it happens, he was an official of the Napoleonic Army that, when they invaded Spain, fell wounded right after crossing the Spanish/French border of Irún. A family of Basque farmers sheltered, took care, and cured him. He, whose last name was Gal, fell madly in love with their daughter--my great-great-grandmother--and got married. Years later, one of my great-aunts whose last names were Rodríguez Gal and was a great traveller, went to Budapest with one of her grandaughters in order to meet someone from that branch of the family. Once they were settled in the hotel, my aunt said: "I'm going to look in the phone book and the first Gal I see, I'll call" I'm afraid that her hopes went down the drain because there were as many "Gal" as there are "Rodríguez" in Spain... She gave up.
sábado, 22 de noviembre de 2008
Ben Clark, hijo de una muy buena amiga mia con quien compartí casa unos meses en los '70 en Ibiza cuando ella llegó a la isla para enseñar inglés y yo estaba separada de Fernando. Se casó con un galés y tuvieron tres hijos, el mayor Ben que escribe igual de bien en catalán, castellano e inglés. A la tierna edad de 20 años ganó un prestigioso premio de poesía (ahora mismo no me acuerdo cual pero ERA prestigioso...) nos recitó tres o cuatro de sus poesías más realistas, más románticas escritas con una técnica que el conoce muy bien.
Victor Balcells el "inédito"...por ahora... nos recitó una poesia llena de humor, de angustia vital por no acordarse de cuantos años llevaba con su chica, del pajaro que escapa de su jaula y acaba en la boca de ella... Verdaderamente, tronchante y genial. Delirio le va a publicar.
Encontré a los tres muy, muy válidos reflejando muy bien el mundo y la época que les ha tocado vivir. Les deseo muchísima suerte.
POR CIERTO SI A ALGUIEN LE INTERESA, TAMBIEN PRESENTARAN SUS LIBROS EN: MADRID, VALENCIA, CÓRDOBA Y BARCELONA. Estad al loro.
Yesterday, in the "Ibiza Journal's" Club, I attended the presentation of two books written by two up-coming, very young-- early twenties--excellent poets: "Not having been born" by Gonzalo Escarpa and "Cabotaje" by Ben Clark. Another poet, who hasn't been published yet, Victor Balcells also read one of his poems. "Delirio" has published the first two books, in the form of coasters, very ingenious. Escarpa read his poem, a saga of "Lavapies", marvellously well. The whole book, "Not having been born", is just this poem with its tragic and funny moments. He achieves a very acute insight of that Madrid neighbourhood with its colourful and multicultural characters wether they're junkies, homeless, prostitutes or simple flower-sellers and expresses his angst in a way that hits your gut. He admits belonging "to an intellectually-lacking Google generation because without her--Google IS a woman--I'm unable to write eight continuous lines (I would be fodder to my doubts and my bad memory)".
Ben Clark, whose mother is a very good friend with whom I shared a house in the 70's when she came to teach English and I was separated from Fernando. She married a Welsh-man and had three sons. The oldest is Ben who writes very well in Catalán, Spanish and English. At the tender age of twenty he won a very prestigious Poetry Award--which I cannot remember right now but IT was VERY prestigious--read three or four of his more realistic and romantic poems which technique he masters very well.
Victor Balcells, the "unpublished" (for the time being) read a poem full of humour, describing his distress at not remembering how many years he had lived with his girlfriend and a bird in a cage that escapes and ends up in his girlfriend's mouth... very hilarious and imaginative. "Delirio" is going to publish him.
I found the three of them very, very valid expressing very well the world they live in and the era that they've been born in. I wish them the best of luck
BY THE WAY IF ANYONE IS INTERESTED THEY WILL ALSO PRESENT THEIR BOOKS IN: MADRID, VALENCIA, CÓRDOBA and BARCELONA. Keep an eye out.
martes, 18 de noviembre de 2008
I'm back to my student days in Paris. 1963 (I know you hadn't been born yet). The "Beaux Arts" students had their annual festival at the beginning of Spring. It was a parade of erotic figures which went by the Rue St. Germain and the Boulevard St. Michel (popularly known as Boul Mich) of the Quartier Latin (Latin Quarter) ending at a fountain, with all the students jumping in naked, of the Parc de Luxembourg. Coming from prudish Toronto, this really stunned me! Floats with large phalluses entering and withdrawing from a large hole...(without specifying which...), huge papier maché figures lewdly embracing eachother... A spectacle that left me utterly in awe. I don't know if this festival is still going on. Does anyone know?
jueves, 13 de noviembre de 2008
Another story of my young years in Canada. During the summers I used to work in various jobs. One summer I worked for two weeks in a boutique, in the jewelry and perfume stand. That year it was very fashionable, among Canadian women, to wear a small pearl hanging from a chain. We had those pearls for $2.00. One day a girl called asking if we had those pearls. I said yes, we had them. She asked how much they cost and I told her $2.00. Ah no, she (and a friend) wanted the $10.00 ones. The manager who heard me, made me a sign to cover the phone, and told me to tell them that, yes, we had them and that I should simply change the price. This is what I did--I couldn't help it, after all, I was just an employee--I changed the price and when they came they were as happy as larks. This made me realize the falseness of the "market" and of "fashion" in general.
martes, 11 de noviembre de 2008
This is another strange story that has happened in my life. When I was seventeen, my brother had a party at home. I was dancing to "Only You" of the Platters with one of his friends when, suddenly, I had a flash that I was going to hear that song ALL my life... Can you believe that even though I never bought the record I HEARD it all my life (at least until I was sixty)? Everywhere I lived or spent some time when I turned on the radio or a radio was on--there it was! "Only You". The first years I noticed it but didn't pay too much attention but when I reached forty and EVERY year (usually, always at the new year) I heard it, I was astonished. However, since I turned sixty I haven't heard it anymore. How odd...
viernes, 7 de noviembre de 2008
Johnnis W. es una muy querida amiga mia de Ibiza desde hace mas de 30 años. Ella es mulata americana de Ohio. Quiero transcribir aquí el e-mail que escribió a sus jóvenes sobrinos Elliot y Candice a raiz del triunfo de Obama. Es un poco largo pero creo que merece la pena que lo leais:
“ Me acosté a mi hora acostumbrada sin querer estar pendiente de la tele esperando un resultado que no me atrevía a creer podría pasar en America. Dormí inquieta, despertándome a menudo, cada vez pensando qué habría pasado. Temía que si Obama no ganaba o fuera una carrera muy ajustada pareciera un tongo (¿recordais las últimas dos elecciones, Bush ganó haciendo trampas en Florida primero (2000) y en Ohio (2004)?) que, literalmente, se desataría el infierno y ¿qué pasaría? Me levanté temprano e inmediatamente enchufé la CNN y la BBC. Cuando vi el número de votos electorales y una marca al lado del nombre de Obama es cuando me percaté que lo había logrado, que había ganado. Rompí en sollozos acordándome de repente en Martin Luther King, Emmit Till (jóven de 14 años ahorcado por el Ku Klux Klan por haber silbado a una blanca), Rosa Parks (que se negó a ceder su asiento a un blanco en un autobus) tambien en mi padre, vuestro abuelo (tan triste y frustrada que no viviera para ver ésto) y a los miles de héroes anónimos negros que murieron o fueron asesinados sin ningun miramiento ni publicidad. Me acordé de los recolectores, de los recogedores de algodón, maleteros de los Pullman, esclavos y/o simples familias trabajadoras humildes que fueron víctimas de abusos, falta de respeto y tildados y tratados mucho peor que animales. Todos estos recuerdos explotaron en mi mente. Pensé en nuestra familia, vuestra madre, abuelos, tios y tias viviendo en el profundo sur, como muchos otros, y viendo a mi padre, director de escuela y posteriormente profesor universitario tratado sin respeto y de manera discriminatoria por el más bajo trabajador blanco. Recuerdo que cuando bebíamos agua de las fuentes públicas teníamos que hacerlo en “las fuentes negras” claramente designadas porque estaban pintadas de negro al lado de las de “solo para blancos”que, por supuesto, estaban pintadas de blanco. Tambien recuerdo que cuando ibamos a un restaurante no podíamos acceder a los comedores, teníamos que ir por la parte trasera y pedir la comida a través de un ventanuco que daba a la cocina. Recuerdo qué feliz me sentí cuando fuimos a la playa (vivíamos en la frontera entre Alabama y Florida) por la primera vez y darme cuenta que estabámos asignados a la de “solamente negros” sin poder poner pie en la de los blancos. Sí, viví todo eso y en algun lado profundo de mi subconsciente nunca olvidé que viví “Jim Crow”. O sea que para mi estas elecciones eran un sueño inalcanzable. El techo de cristal es lo único que yo había conocido. Por eso lloré sorprendida, esperanzada y con una creencia renovada en la grandeza del ser humano. Parte de mi alegría con el triunfo de Obama es un sentimiento personal de toda la gente de color (o de cualquier minoría que hayan sufrido injusticias por parte de esta sociedad racista y discriminatoria). Había felicidad. Que este hombre, ético, moral, inteligente, carismático había conseguido lo casi imposible. Logró mobilizar a los jóvenes desencantados y ofrecerles la esperanza de que sí podían cambiar las cosas y que sus votos contaban. Disolvió la apatía de una generación jóven marginada por un gobierno que percibían no se interesaba por ellos ni lo que pudieran opinar, así que se refugiaban en sus Ipods y You Tube. Observando a esa muchedumbre; todos, blancos, hispánicos, asiáticos, gays, viejos, negros, bi-raciales... todos con tanta esperanza en sus miradas, me volví más emocional. El triunfo de Obama ha sobrepasado todas esas barreras estúpidas y ha conseguido que veamos con nuestros propios ojos lo que verdaderamente significaron nuestros padres fundadores. Creo que nos sentimos americanos como tiene que ser, no un país programado y concentrado en lo indefinible o miedos espurios sin darnos cuenta que el terror está dentro. Muchos, muchos aprenderán del ejemplo que ha tenido lugar hoy. Cada niño americano, cualquiera sea su color, orígen étnico o religión puede llegar a cualquier cosa...hasta la presidencia.
Este es un momento histórico pero no soy tan ingenua como para pensar que puedan ocurrir milagros (bueno uno ¡sí ha pasado!). Cada uno y todos los americanos tienen que ser responsables de sus propias vidas y tienen que trabajar juntos para intentar conseguir que este país destrozado pueda volver a levantarse tanto moralmente como económicamente. Va a llevar muchísimo trabajo y esfuerzo. Va a ser difícil. Pero se puede lograr con tiempo. Rezo por el futuro del mundo. Rezo por toda mi gente querida y por mis compatriotas y sé que lo que ha pasado es lo más positivo que ha pasado a nuestro triste, perdido y mal-dirigido país en mucho, mucho tiempo.”
Johnnis W. is a very dear friend from Ibiza for the past thirty years. She's an “Afro-American” from Ohio. I want to transcribe the e-mail she sent to her young nephews, Elliot and Candice when Obama won the presidency. It's a bit long but I think it's worthwhile reading:
“I went to bed at my usual time, choosing not to sit in front of the TV, waiting anxiously for a result I dared not to believe could happen in America. I went to bed and slept fitfully, waking up sporadically, each time wondering what was happening. I was truly afraid that if Obama did not win, or it was a close race and seemed wonky (remember the last two elections when Bush got the presidency by cheating...first in Florida in 2000 and in Ohio 2004?) that there would be literally “hell to pay” and who knew what would happen? I got up early and immediately turned on CNN and BBC. When I saw the number of electoral votes and a lovely check by Obama's name and it dawned on me he had actually done it and won, I burst into tears thinking suddenly of Martin Luther King, Emmit Till, Rosa Parks and also of my dad (and so sad that he did not live to see this) and the thousands of UNSUNG heroes of color who died or were murdered with no praise or publicity. I thought of black share-croppers, cotton pickers, Pullman porters, slaves and just humble working families who were subjected to abuse, disrespect, and treated and called animals but treated much worse than animals. All of these thoughts were like an explosion in my mind. I thought of my family (your Mom, grandparents, aunts and uncles) living in the Deep South, like so many others and seeing my father, a school principal and later college professor, treated with disrespect and discriminatory behaviour by even the lowest white worker. I remember when drinking from public water fountains having to drink at the “colored fountains” that were clearly designated as they were painted black, sitting alongside the “white only” that were, of course, painted white. I remember when going to a restaurant people of color could not go into the eating or dining area, but instead had to go around to the back door and order your food through a window cut into the back of the restaurant kitchen. I remember my elation of us going to the beach in Florida for the first time, and suddenly be cognizant of the fact that we were limited to the “colored beach” and could not step foot on the “whites only” part. Yes, I lived that. And somewhere deep in my psyche I never forgot I lived “Jim Crow”. So for me this election was an unreachable dream. The glass ceiling had been all I ever knew. So I weeped. With awe, hope and on some level a renewal of belief in mankind. Part of my joy of Obama's winning is a personal feeling deep in the psyche of all people of color (or ANY minority culture) who have suffered at the hands of a discriminatory, racist society. There was joy that this man, this ethical, moral, intelligent, charismatic man had done the near impossible. He had mobilized YOUNG disenfranchised people into having hope and belief that they CAN make a difference and their vote counts. He dissolved the apathy of a young generation marginalized by a government that they felt did not care and was not interested in them or what they had to say, so they tuned on their Ipod or You Tube. Looking at those crowds and seeing all of those people, white, Hispanic, Asian, gay, old, black, biracial...all of them with such HOPE in their eyes, I became even more emotional. Obama's win transcended all those stupid barriers and made all proud of being able to see with our own eyes, what the founders of this country really meant. I think we felt American, the way it was meant to be, not a country so programmed to concentrate on the undefined and vague fear, rather than concentrating on the terror within. Many, many will learn from the example that was made today. Every American child, whatever his colour, ethnicity or religion, can aspire to anything...even the presidency.
That is quite momentous I am not so naïve to think miracles will happen (well, one really did!). EACH and every American has to take responsibility for their own lives, and begin to work together to try and get this destroyed country (morally and financially) back on track. It will take an awful lot of hard work and effort. It will be difficult. But it can be done. In time I pray for the future of the world. I pray for America and all my loved ones and know that this is the most positive thing that has happened to this sad misguided country in a long, long time”.
miércoles, 5 de noviembre de 2008
HE WON!! Iwish him all the luck in the world and hope he survives his mandate.
SE ME OLVIDÓ INCLUIRLO ANTES PERO ESTE POST SE LO DEDICO A NUESTRO QUERIDO E INOLVIDABLE MANZA (QUE MURIÓ RECIENTEMENTE) QUE, SÉ, HUBIERA ESTADO ENCANTADO CON LA NOTICIA. ¡VA POR TI, QUERIDO AMIGO!
I FORGOT TO ADD IT AT THE BEGINNING, BUT THIS POST IS DEDICATED TO OUR BELOVED MANZA (WHO DIED RECENTLY) AND, I KNOW, WOULD HAVE BEEN THRILLED WITH THE RESULT OF THE ELECTIONS. ¡THIS IS DEDICATED TO YOU, DEAR FRIEND!
martes, 4 de noviembre de 2008
My dear ANTONIA P. gave me two Saharian bracelets in our recent get-together in Burgos. In my first excursion with our Spanish retired, a couple noticed my bracelets and said "they're Saharian". I was very surprised and I said yes, they were. As it happened they were part of the many Spanish families who host Saharian children during the summer. Yesterday, I had a tour with American visitors who came in a cruise ship. Two ladies noticed my bracelets and said how beautiful they were and asked if they were made of leather. I told them, no, they were made from old car wheels, incrusted with silver and gold paper. Since they didn't know ANYTHING about the Saharians, I explained their history, their unjust situation for the past thirty years in the desert of Algeria (hamada) due to the very unfair world politics. I think they took note.
viernes, 31 de octubre de 2008
Cuando llegamos a Ibiza en 1972 una de mis pasiones era salir en barco con amigos y tirarme al mar en medio de nuestro Mare Nostrum. Mucho más que estar en la playa. Un dia que fuimos y atracamos al lado de la Roca (no sabía absolutamente nada sobre ella) fuí incapaz de lanzarme al mar, había algo, no-sé-qué que me echaba para atrás.
Si quereis saber más sobre este tema os aconsejo leer los últimos posts sobre el tema de mi amiga Antonia Maxwell (http://antoniamaxwell.blogspot.com/
Iba a traducirlo al inglés pero como presiento que no lo lee nadie y el post me ha salido un poco largo, paso del tema. Lo siento.
I was going to translate it into English but since I have the feeling that no one reads it (in English) and the post is a bit too long, I've decided not to do it. Sorry.
martes, 28 de octubre de 2008
Luego ya nos fuimos a la granja donde nos esperaban el resto de los blogueros: FUENTECILLAS, A VISTA DE CERDO, SR.K, RAUL URBINA, PEDRO OJEDA, FERNANDO MANERO y Mª Antonia, (perdón, puede que me olvide de alguien pero PEDRO OJEDA en su blog tiene toda la lista) y los que hicimos la caminata: ISABEL HUETE, ANTONIA P., BIPOLAR, GUILLERMO, EDUARDO, FRAN CAMPILLO y yo. Nos sentamos a deleitarnos con la OLLA. Sinceramente pensé que sería una bomba para mi estómago teniendo en cuenta que la semana pasada estuve tirada en la cama con un virus estomacal, pero para nada, estuvo deliciosa y la encontré muy ligera. La digestión no se hizo nada pesada, cosa que me sorprendió. El primer plato fué una sopa de alubias pintas muy sabrosa y luego llegaron los tropezones: oreja, rabo, chorizo, morcilla. Probé un cachito de cada cosa. Todo esto regado con un vino tinto de la Ribera del Duero exquisito. De postre, un pastel tambien muy rico y chupitos de orujo (que no tomé por si las "flies"). Estuvimos conversando muy animadamente, algunos más que otros como siempre pasa en estas reuniones multitudinarias, y otros escuchando. Ya luego salimos al campo y nos hicimos fotos donde estaban los burros pero he visto que los únicos "burros" que salen somos nosotros... Despues de vuelta a Burgos a tomar café en una cafetería. No todos vinieron pero PILAR, que no pudo estar en la OLLA, vino y ya nos acompañó hasta despues de cenar. Comimos unas ensaladas muy digestivas. Al dia siguiente, ANTONIA P. cogió el tren para Lleida/Lérida e ISABEL HUETE y yo nos volvimos a Madrid en coche. Mañana vuelo a Ibiza.
Ha sido un fin de semana maravilloso que espero repetir en futuras convocatorias, sobre todo el conocer a muchos queridos blogueros en persona. Una experiencia enriquecedora e inolvidable.
miércoles, 22 de octubre de 2008
Mi primer dia de cole en Toronto. Corría el año 1955, acabábamos de instalarnos en esa ciudad. Yo jamás había oido hablar el inglés por lo tanto no sabía absolutamente nada de ese idioma. Mi padre me dijo que si me preguntaban mi nombre dijera "Mery" (Mercedes era muy enrevesado para los niños y Merche no lo sabrían pronunciar). Total, que empieza mi primer dia. No entendía ni papa y yo era la única hispano-hablante. En un momento dado quise ir al cuarto de baño, me devané los sesos pensando en cómo se lo decía a la maestra hasta que me acordé que en el libro de inglés de mi padre cuando lo estudiaba en Irún, vi la palabra "water closet", le pregunté qué significaba y me dijo que cuarto de baño. Entonces me levanté, me planté delante de la maestra y en mi mejor acento español le dije "batercloset, batercloset", me miró extrañada y yo seguí como un loro "batercloset, batercloset" hasta que ¡al fin! pareció entenderme y dijo a una niña que me acompañara para enseñarme dónde estaba. Por el camino la niña supongo que me preguntó cómo me llamaba, le dije "Mery" entonces ella me contestó "Ah, Merry" le dije "no, no Mery, Mery" es que "Merry" me sonaba horrible...
Lo dejo sólo en castellano porque no tengo tiempo de traducirlo. Sorry no English translation, I'm short of time.
lunes, 20 de octubre de 2008
Today is a very sad day... because one of my dearest bloggers, the very intelligent MANZACOSAS has passed away. I'm going to miss him so much! I always awaited impatiently his very bright and ironic posts as well as his comments in all the other ones, including mine from time to time that were SO very welcome. I'm afraid I can't continue because the tears don't let me... I see that this world of bloggers tie us affectionately very much. Rest in peace, dear Manza, I'm shattered.
miércoles, 15 de octubre de 2008
Today is the day dedicated to worldwide poverty. I would suggest that all the mega-millionaires, like the Sultan of Brunei, the sharks of Wall Street, the politicians who are loaded due to us, the citizens, Berlusconi, the narcos and the Sheiks of Saudi Arabia dedicated part of their immense fortunes to help mitigate this poverty, starting with the poor of their own countries, and that governments, finally, dedicate the famous 0.7% to the same cause. I know this is wishful thinking but... one can always dream.
lunes, 13 de octubre de 2008
Pedro Ojeda Escudero (see blog above) has just celebrated his second blog anniversary. I wish to dedicate this post to him for the excellent work he's doing promulgating very interesting themes daily but, specially, for his initiative of the collective reading of "El Quixote" every Thursday. A marvellous adventure which is, at last, achieving that many of us read it (I, for example). Thank you, dear Pedro, and I hope you celebrate many, many more blog birthdays.
domingo, 12 de octubre de 2008
I always tell my tourists that the most important thing about Ibiza is NOT its notoriety of drugs, clubs, sex (well, this yes...) and hippies. No, the most important is the architecture of its old country houses (unfortunately, not many left nowadays). These houses inspired many great architects who lived here, like Raoul Haussmann, Le Corbusier, Walter Gropius (who did the Bauhaus movement in Germany) and the great Catalan architect, Josep Lluis Sert who became Dean of Architecture in Harvard, among others. They were all inspired by the humble Ibizan country houses. The primitive islander, often without knowing how to read or write, had a very advanced knowledge of modern architecture, without knowing it, of course; because he built a block and, as the family grew, kept adding blocks. This became a very functional house, esthetically very beautiful and a very modern concept. The white walls of these houses were nearly a metre wide, had very small windows—sometimes no windows at all (for defence purposes)-- and when they did have windows they put two pieces of Phoenician Juniper wood in the form of a cross for protection. The front of the houses face the southern part of the island. All this, the fact that the walls were wide, the windows small and faced the south also made them warmer in the winter and cooler in the summer. Then the roofs are flat in order to gather the little water that falls (thirty days of rain per year) and would go to the well. The roofs were made in three layers: a layer of Phoenician Juniper wood, another of ash and the leaves of the Posidonia (which is what everyone thinks is seaweed but it's not because it's a plant with seeds and flowers) that acted as isolation and a layer of clay. Now, sometimes, this clay would crack with the hot summer sun, so one would think that if it rained they would have leaks inside the house, no way, they were so clever in olden times even though they were illiterate, and weather was normal, that normally it wouldn't rain from the second fortnight in April until the end of August, beginning of September when we would have a huge summer storm with lightening and thunder, that one would think the island was going to sink... but the following day the sun came out (it rarely rains two days in a row) so what the islanders did is, before this rain fell, they would put dry mud on the roof, this mud would melt with the rain, cover the cracks, dry up in the sun the following day and bingo! No leaks inside.
miércoles, 8 de octubre de 2008
My previous post, which I haven't translated, had to do with the house we lived in, in the 70's, in Ibiza: C'an Plácido ("C'an" means "house of" they use the name, last name or nickname of the owner. "Ca na" means the same but for a female owner).
A few years ago a curious thing happened. I had these friends who lived in a beautiful Ibizan country house that they had to move from, because the new highway Ibiza-San Antonio was going to go through their backyard... A few weeks later a close common friend told me that they had moved to another beautiful house. From the description she gave me and the site, I said it had to be "C'an Plácido"! The name didn't ring a bell. Nevertheless, I asked her to drive me over (she has a car, I don't) to see them. And, bingo! It WAS "C'an Plácido"! I told my friends that we had lived there over thirty-years-ago. They couldn't believe it! Nowadays it's a "luxury" house. It has electricity, a fully-equipped kitchen and a BATHROOM! Sheer de luxe.
domingo, 5 de octubre de 2008
Como éste post ha sido más largo del habitual, paso de traducirlo al inglés, lo siento.
As this post is longer than usual, I can't be bothered translating it. Sorry.
miércoles, 1 de octubre de 2008
My dears, several of our bloggers from Burgos, are organizing a field trip finalizing in a gastronomic encounter around a "Rotten Stew" (it sounds horrible but I'm sure it's delicious) in a restaurant in Arlanzón (Burgos) this coming 25th of October. If you want to come, just sign up in the above blog. I'm planning to go and I would love to meet all of you--who, I doubt, read me in English...--that can make it. Anyway, I'm sure we'll have a great time. At least we'll see our faces...
lunes, 29 de septiembre de 2008
This post is for those who speak/understand Spanish. It's about an article that appeared in today's "El País" entitled "A Bunch of Scoundrels and the Fucking Butterfly". The writer of the article, José María Izquierdo, is SO right... We, THE CITIZENS who are the most mistreated, DON'T FIGHT BACK! That's the way it goes... we're eaten alive... instead of rebelling, the French way, not with sticks and torches, but by simply not going to work, not paying those exhorbitant electricity, water, etc. bills, refusing to bend to "their" wishes (don't forget "they're" THE MINORITY those scoundrels). But, of course, we would have to be UNITED and "they" have made sure that we continue disjoined... We're a bunch of lambs ready for the slaughter...!
sábado, 27 de septiembre de 2008
Me acabo de enterar que ha fallecido PAUL NEWMAN, mi amor de mis años adolescentes. Qué breve es la vida...
Today I saw Woody Allen's latest film. I saw some of my bloggers reflected in that film. I liked it. The photography is splendid, the "ambiance" very Barcelonian "gauche divine". Beautiful the Tàpies paintings. I heartily recommend it.
I just heard about PAUL NEWMAN'S death, my teenage love. How brief life is...
viernes, 26 de septiembre de 2008
de Canada, muy a mi pesar, no tengo a NADIE por muy inglés que escriba... Seguro que igual me ha quedado alguien en el tintero... (es que son las 20.00 y despues de un viaje muy movido a Formentera donde ha llovido a cántaros, estoy molida...). Hombre ¡sí! como me puedo olvidar de mi fantástico FERNANDO MANERO, de mi TUCCI querido, de CAPRI y sus maravillosos posts, de mi compañera de aventuras SELMA y su jaima, de la BRUJI, en fin, perdonádme si me he olvidado de alguien. Mañana cuando esté más despierta, lo releo y añado a más maravillosos amigos. GRACIAS A TODOS. Ya sabía que me olvidaba de algunos... los mallorquines PEDRO II y la divertidísima vampirita DIANNA. Tambien mi querido y muy admirado, gran poeta TOROSALVAJE. Espero, de nuevo, no olvidarme de alguien porque OS QUIERO MUCHÍSIMO ¡MIS "PEQUES"!
This post is, basically, to thank all my dear bloggers after a wonderful year of blogging where I've met, at a virtual level, many, many lovely people.
jueves, 25 de septiembre de 2008
OK I've managed to find the lost post but I haven't been able to delete the "Help" post (I, frankly, don't know why...) So forget it. Thank you.
I've just written a new post about solidarity and the AVAAZ organization. When I had finished writing it in English, I clicked "Save Now" and both the Spanish and the English version plus commentaries have disappeared! Can someone show me HOW to recuperate them? Thanks.
Parece ser que el primer ministro de Canada, un tal Harper, sólo está interesado en ser reelegido y así tirar por la borda la tradición solidaria y muy arraigada, que siempre ha existido en mi segundo país, de ayudar a los más desfavorecidos del planeta. Vergonzoso. Os animo a que todos coopereis firmando en su web: http://AVAAZ.ORG/es/poverty_promise_breakers. Gracias.
The world citizen organization AVAAZ (avaaz@avaaz) send me, from time to time, news of what they're fighting against requesting my signature. Up until now I've agreed with everything they've sent me so I've signed. Today I received the following: "World leaders are meeting this week at the U.N. to renew their opposition towards extreme poverty. However, there are three countries--France, CANADA!! and Italy--which are threatening to boycott the worldwide initiatives against poverty, by, drastically, cutting their budgets in development aids, thereby, not carrying out their international pledges."
It seems to be that the Canadian Prime Minister, Harper, is more interested in his re-election , thereby, destroying Canada's worldwide reputation of being one of the first most generous and
humane countries in helping the world's needy. Shameful. I urge you to cooperate by signing at the web (see above). Thank you.
domingo, 21 de septiembre de 2008
El muy admirado y querido Isidor Macabich fue un personaje de la isla que falleció en 1973 a la venerable edad de 90 años. Al poco tiempo ya tenía su estatua en el mismo lugar donde solía sentarse a leer, rodeado de los eucaliptus que bordean esa alameda. Mosén Macabich, aparte de ser cura fué el jefe de los archivos de la catedral, fue historiador--escribió una historia sobre Ibiza--poeta y periodista. Un hombre renacentista y muy humilde. Existen anécdotas muy divertidas sobre él. Por ejemplo, en Ibiza no existen títulos nobiliarios. Un dia un jóven, queriéndole hacer la pelota, le preguntó solemnemente "Mosen Macabich, ústed viene de una familia MUY noble, ¿no es cierto?" Macabich le miró con infinita paciencia, y le contestó "no, hijo mio, no. Nosotros los ibicencos somos hijos de pescadores, hijos de payeses (campesinos) o... hijos de puta."
Finally, I've managed to upload/download the picture! He's my "boyfriend". The truth is that almost every day I sit beside him to explain to my tourists who he was. Besides, we look like eachother...
The very admired and loved Isidor Macabich was a personality of the island who died at the venerable age of 90 in 1973. A few years later he had his statue where he had always sat reading, surrounded by the Eucalyptus trees that border that avenue. Father Macabich was a priest but he was also the Head of the Archives of the Cathedral, a historian--he wrote a history of Ibiza--a poet and journalist. He was a "Renaissance" man and very humble. There are quite a few anecdotes about him. For example, in Ibiza there are no titles of nobility, one day a young man, wanting to butter him up, very solemnly asked: "Father Macabich I understand that you come from a VERY noble family?" Father Macabich looked at him with infinite patience and answered: "No, my son, no. We Ibizans are sons of fishermen, sons of peasants or... sons of bitches!"
jueves, 18 de septiembre de 2008
I think Antonio Ruiz Bonilla's blog is not correct. Sorry. I hope he writes and gives us the exact one.
P.D. Aún estoy intentando bajar/subir la foto reciente que os prometí. Estoy en ello.
Alright, for those of you who know Spanish and read my English blog... (which I doubt because I NEVER get any feedback), I've received an e-mail from this blogger, who entered my blog a few weeks ago. I liked what he wrote very much; he has told me that his book of poetry entitled "Poemas de amor inmesericordes" (Star-Crossed Love Poems) edited by "Poesía eres tú" has just come out. I hope he has all the luck in the world. His blog (see above).
P.S. I'm still trying to upload/download the recent picture that I promised. I'm still working at it.
miércoles, 17 de septiembre de 2008
Por cierto he estado intentando bajar (o ¿subir?) una foto reciente mia pero me ha sido IMPOSIBLE. Seguiré inténtandolo.
I'm realizing, my dears, that the reincarnation theory has a lot more to do with our past than with our future. Old people, with age, acquire the features of animals. Some look like bull-dogs and others like swans or deer. I look like a bird, a Crazy Bird or a “Tucan” (because of my large nose). Every day, I look more like a bird and I don't know why!! I'm sure that WAS what I was in my past life because I've always loved to fly and be free.
By the way, I've tried to download (or is it ¿upload?) a recent picture of me but it's been IMPOSSIBLE. I'll keep trying.
domingo, 14 de septiembre de 2008
Os recomiendo que leais el artículo.
Yesterday I read a very interesting interview in the extra “Health” feature of “El Pais” with one of our best cartoonists, Andrés Rábago (El Roto). I completely agree with everything he says, for example “medicines make you sick” and it's true! The power that the strong pharmaceutical companies have over us to make us believe that we HAVE to take medicines for absolutely everything—the famous “preventive” medicine-- it's a fallacy. On the contrary the less medicines we take, the better and healthier we will be. I've reached my age simply by taking Aspirines when something hurts. I refuse to take anything else. The pharmaceutical industry is another “turn of the screw” of the infamous globalization that we're suffering. I NEVER read the “Health” articles of the newspapers because I'm sure I have some of the symptoms that they describe and if I was a hypochondriac it would be HELL.
I recommend you read the article.
miércoles, 10 de septiembre de 2008
I have very fond memories of Portugal. As a matter of fact, my daughter, was born in Lisbon. Her father, Fernando, although Spanish, grew up there along with his seven siblings because my father-in-law was a member of the Spanish Embassy. When Fernando and I met in the sixties we often travelled on the “Lusitania” a very beautiful “belle-époque”type train that did the Madrid-Lisbon route. As soon as we passed the Spanish-Portuguese border the train stations in Portugal, full of colourful tiles, were SO clean that you could eat on the floor... As soon as we arrived in the city, we would get one of his brothers' cars and drive away to Sintra, Cascais, Estoril. In those years there was hardly any traffic. I remember eating delicious peaches in Alcobaça, seeing the picturesque fisherwomen of Nazaré with their colourful skirts, Coimbra and its lovely university. Afterwards, during our thirteen years of cohabitation, we spent many Christmasses in my sister-in-law's huge house in Sesimbra, another beautiful fishing village and one year we went north to Aveiro. After our separation, I've still continued travelling to Portugal because, as I mentioned in previous posts, even though our family is unstructured it's still quite structured and continue to be very clannish. I've spent wonderful summers in the coast of Caparica, in Troya, the Algarve. Also, its delicious, simple gastronomy. Those cod dishes done a thousand different ways, charcoal-grilled fresh sardines, the “feijoadas” (red-bean stew), “a pescada a la espanyola” (“Spanish-style hake” with tomatoes and onions), the humble “Alentejana Soup”... and the desserts! Those “bolos de nata” (cream cakes) mmmm.... I'm dying to go back.
sábado, 6 de septiembre de 2008
This is my third go at publishing this post, I hope I'm luckier this time and can follow it up... Since many of my dear bloggers are professors and teachers I wanted to tell you of my experience as a little girl and my perception of the differences in the education I received in Spain and in Canada. It's just a small example. In Irún I assisted a public school run by a wonderful and unforgettable teacher, Ms. María Luisa Beltrán. Whenever she left the classroom for whatever reason, we started gabbing our heads off. When she came back, she would NEVER have dared to ask WHO was talking because we would've laughed in her face... When I arrived in Toronto in all the schools I attended—there were various—whenever the teacher left the room, the same thing happened—everybody talking (I, the first..) and when the teacher came back she/he asked “all those who were talking, please put up your hand” the first time I saw that the rest of the kids put their hands up (not me, of course, on the contrary I laughed to myself thinking HOW stupid they were...). After a few months, however, I also began to put up my hand... This taught me to admit my errors, be consequent and responsible for them. A great civic lesson. They didn't punish us, simply, they wanted to know who had been talking in their absence (it was usually me...)
viernes, 5 de septiembre de 2008
Today I wrote a new post TWICE. Once here and when I was about to finish with the English version it disappeared. I went to my desk, wrote it again so that afterward I could copy it, paste it and bring it here. It disappeared into the cybersphere... so I'll try again tomorrow.
lunes, 1 de septiembre de 2008
Today part of my troupe has left, my daughter will leave this Sunday. I already feel the emptyness, the solitude, the lonelyness, but I'm very grateful to have you, my dear bloggers, who keep me company, make me laugh, cry, but feel accompanied and loved, you fill me with LIFE, so necessary at my age. Really, I don't need anything else. I'm happy. Thanks to all of you, my dear ones.
sábado, 30 de agosto de 2008
The marvellous speech given by Barak Obama in the Democrats' Convention has sent me back to 45 years ago when I saw on television Martin Luther King's famous "I have a Dream" speech... that one day blacks would be equal to and have the same rights as whites in the U.S.A. nothing more and nothing less. Saying that, caused his death but his words have remained in the American subconscience. Now a new generation has taken over and are ready for the relay. I, sincerely, hope and wish that Obama wins the elections and that he SURVIVES his mandate.
sábado, 23 de agosto de 2008
Once more the citizens of Madrid have been an example to the rest of the world of solidarity and generosity in the way they have confronted this tragic airline accident. They're worthy of the highest praise. Congratulations to all of them. I feel very proud of being Spanish.
jueves, 21 de agosto de 2008
THIS OLD PICTURE, I FIND VERY AMUSING. IT'S A SORT OF A CHILDREN'S HALLOWEEN PARTY. I BELIEVE MY MOTHER IS THE ONE IN THE BLACK AND WHITE CHECKERED SKIRT ON THE RIGHT. HOWEVER, THE CHILDREN ON THE LEFT WHO ARE NOT DRESSED-UP AND LOOKING AT THE OTHER CHILDREN, ALSO STRUCK ME...
OTRA FOTO FAMILIAR EN EL CASERIO. MI TIO PACHO CON SU MUJER, TIO GERARDO Y TIA MERCEDES, MI MADRE, MI AMONA, MI PADRE, MI HERMANO Y YO.
MI HERMANO Y YO EN UNA DE LAS FUENTES QUE YA NO EXISTEN.
MY BROTHER AND I IN ONE OF THE STREET WATER FOUNTAINS THAT NO LONGER EXISTS.
WEDDING OF MY UNCLE PACHO. MY PARENTS TO THE LEFT AND UNCLE GERARD AND AUNT MERCEDES TO THE RIGHT.
IDYLLIC VISION OF CANADA.
MY STEPCHILDREN WITH MY NEWBORN DAUGHTER.
miércoles, 20 de agosto de 2008
I've just found out about a horrible airplane accident in Madrid of a plane going to Las Palmas de Gran Canaria. I hope and wish that none of my dear bloggers have any family member or dear ones on that tragic flight. Kisses to everyone.
lunes, 18 de agosto de 2008
MIS PADRES, MY PARENTS
MI AMONA (ABUELA EN VASCO), MY GRANDMOTHER
TIA MERCEDES, MY AUNT MERCEDES
MI FAMILIA, MI PADRE Y YO, MI MADRE, TIO GERARDO Y TIA MERCEDES, MI AMONA CON MI HERMANO, MI TIO PACHO CON SU MUJER ¡Y EL CASERIO!. MY FAMILY, MY FATHER AND ME, MY MOTHER, UNCLE GERARD AND AUNT MERCEDES, MY GRANDMOTHER WITH MY BROTHER, MY UNCLE PACHO AND HIS WIFE.
YO EN EL CASERIO, ME IN MY GRANDMOTHER'S COUNTRY HOUSE
MIS DIFERENTES ROSTROS. AQUÍ EN EL COLEGIO EN TORONTO CON DOS AMIGAS. SOY LA TERCERA A LA DERECHA. MY DIFFERENT FACES, IN ST. JOSEPH'S COLLEGE SCHOOL, TORONTO WITH TWO FRIENDS, I'M THE ONE ON THE RIGHT.
PATINANDO EN TORONTO (PODEIS VER POR LA NIEVE EN MIS RODILLAS, QUE YA ME HABÍA CAIDO...) ICE-SKATING IN TORONTO, (YOU CAN SEE FROM THE SNOW ON MY KNEES THAT I HAD FALLEN...)
OTRO DIA CONTINUO CON MIS DIFERENTES ROSTROS... I'LL CONTINUE ANOTHER DAY WITH MY DIFFERENT FACES...