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Tuesday, March 25, 2003 I've been hovering around the computer for the last couple of hours, wanting to sit my little bod down and write something but not ready to, I guess. (Until now.) You know the routine. You circulate around, futz with whatever catches your eye around the living space. Turn the radio on, shut it off. Wander down the hall to the kitchen, look at the paper, make something to eat. Eat, half lost in thought, half listening to the sounds from outside (little dogs barking like overexcited castrati, a car going by, the voices of people in conversation drifting lazily up as they walk past the building on their way to the plaza or the Metro or a café or points unknown). And I have been appreciating more than ever the sense that life carries on. It feels quite fine to think on how many things goes well, how many things work perfectly, how many things we take for granted. The planet spins around in its steady way, daybreak arrives right when it's supposed to, the world slowly wakes up as the light grows stronger. People wander into the street out to begin their daily deal. There's coffee to drink, sweet rolls, croissants or churros to eat, newspapers and baguettes to buy. There are people to watch, strangers to smile at, exchange a hello with. Humans take their dogs out for a spin, most of the furry four-leggeds appearing extremely content to be right where they are, walking with their person, smelling everything they pass, lifting the occasional leg (the canine version of graffiti). Now and then they encounter another dog, they approach each other in happy vigilance, tails erect and wagging stiffly. Maybe they'll get a chance to smell each other's naughty bits, maybe their humans will drag them off before that kind of fun gets underway. Some bark, others don't feel the need. Some will be allowed to smell passing points of aromatic interest, others will be dragged past those hot-spots by their person, still straining to get a good whiff of whatever it was until they give up and turn their attention to other, closer patches of sidewalk or asphalt of fragrant note. The newspaper kiosk here in la Plaza de Chueca generally does brisk business from the time people begin streaming through pre-9-a.m. until they take in all the papers and magazines then lock the place up around 2 p.m. It's run by a couple -- him a 6-foot tall husky type; her an inch or two over five feet, slightly chunky, very affable, hands roughened from work, with a nice smile -- along with two or three other middle-aged males who hang about greeting people, getting the paper or magazine you ask for and handing it over. Sometimes the hangers-on will take your money, passing it along to the half of the couple currently lurking within the kiosk, then passing the change back to the waiting customer. Sometimes they take the money, dole out the change themselves. There's never any telling what the routine will be. The owners have seen my face coming and going several times a week now for quite a while, and as they've gotten used to that, they've begun using the more intimate form of address, ‘tú,' instead of the more formal ‘usted.' The woman, Paloma, is around more than her husband, she began addressing me differently a few weeks back, as our exchanges have gradually became less utilitarian, more familiar. Her husband just began using the more familiar mode of address within the last couple of days. Little teeny changes that mark the progression of life as the days slip by. Spring, after it's jubilant, intense coming-out party a couple of weeks back, has slipped back into the more customary soft, gradual creeping in, daytime temperatures usually sliding up into the 60s, occasionally stretching up to around 70, as with today. In some barrios, trees are well along with new leafage, the grass is full, thick, a bright, vibrant green. Tables and chairs appear outside cafes, cafeterías, restaurantes on a daily basis, as the warm season continues slowly asserting itself and life here becomes more and more oriented toward hanging about outdoors. Blue skies, hazy high clouds, the arc of the sun moving higher into the sky as the days become lengthier, remaining light until 8, 8:30. The year moves along, ignoring the dramas, comedies and sweet daily episodes of life taking place all over the globe. A great deal of local attention has been devoted to both the current international bellicosity and the Academy Awards, and it's been interesting to watch the country has respond to Pedro Almodóvar's good fortune regarding "Hable Con Ella." He has a long track record of filmmaking here, is a well-known personality. Many Spaniards I've spoken to aren't what you might call full-blown aficionados of Almodóvar's work, or they at least choose carefully from among his many films when they discuss him. "Hable Con Ella" did not get what I would call an enthusiastic reception when it came out last spring -- the critics mostly seemed to give it lukewarm reviews, the public did not jam the theaters to check it out. And yet it's had staying power -- remaining in one or two movie houses, doing steady business -- and a wave of pride and affectionate acclamation has risen during the last couple of months as the film began picking up more and more international recognition, along with a fistful of prizes, the most recent being for best script at the Academy Awards. And there's been further appreciation from most quarters for his outspoken position against the war, including his statement at the Academy Awards ceremony (less gentle and polite than most American viewers got). There's a lot going on here. Enormous discontent re: the war and the ruling party's refusal to acknowledge or respond to the opposition of the vast majority of the population. Up in the north, in the Basque country, there are moves in the Parliament to convert the region into a free state, with its own sovereignty, though still associated with Spain. Within a day or two of that becoming public knowledge, regional government types in Cataluña (the region that includes Barcelona) began making the same noises. Here in the capital, controversy and political battles continue in the wake of disturbances at the end of Saturday evening's several-hundred-thousand-people-strong pro-peace gathering in the city center. And with all that swirling about in the atmosphere, life goes on. Businesses open their doors at the beginning of the day, restaurants fill up and empty out as the various meal times come and go. The markets do plenty of business as the locals buy what they need, walking home with white plastic bags in which one can see fruit, tomatoes, containers of milk or olive oil, packages of meat or fish, the ends of a baguette or two protruding from the bag's open top. People sit in the sun in the plaza, reading the paper, talking in groups, eating a sandwich, drinking a soda or beer, maybe heading into one of the nearby establishments for café or a glass of wine. Dogs and small children run around between clusters of people. Clothes hung out on balcones to dry sway slightly back and forth from the occasional breeze. Life continues. rws 1:20 PM [+]
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