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Friday, May 09, 2003 This last Monday evening, autumn passed back through Madrid -- rain, clouds, a genuine chill. The rain continued all the next day -- not your typical Madrid May weather -- and into the night, at which point the mercury took a plunge and winter made a brief return. Cold rain here, snow (aaaiiiiieeeeeee!!) north and west of city. Goddamn, talk about a shock. Things began to lighten up some yesterday, sun breaking through, temperature creeping back up to its more customary spring/early-summer range. The local winged wildlife (minus the pigeons) celebrated by bursting into song and flying madly around all through the daylight hours And yesterday, for the first time all week, the big piece of machinery across the street didn't see much use. They seem to have dug most of the lot down to the depth they're looking for, finishing that part of the work up by inscribing a bunch of channels in a large portion of the plot's center. After which the three people there began doing various kinds of detail work around the lot. Late afternoon, after hours of relative peace, I heard the rear-end/front-end loader start up again (it's impossible to miss that bugger when they get it going). Heard the beeping as they backed the thing up the narrow incline of earth left at the lot's east end, then heard it shift into forward gear and head off down one of the neighborhood streets, the sound of its motor growing fainter then finally disappearing altogether. A glance out the window revealed no big machine. Just two of the three workers toiling inoffensively away around the space. They showed up this morning, the work they're doing has moved quietly along, the accent being on "quietly." Sans big machinery. (Pause for happy sigh.) As I write this, it's also late afternoon. Late springtime weather has reasserted itself, the windows are open, mild air drifting in, clouds trading off with blue skies/sunlight. Somewhere around four o'clock, kids got out of school for the weekend, the neighborhood was suddenly inundated with the laughing/screaming of little girls running around. At times laughter predominated, at times screaming, including a scream from one healthy pair of lungs that seemed to go on longer than is physically possible for a small human body. (Did I, I ask myself, make that kind of noise when I was in that age bracket? Probably, I answer, though hopefully an octave or two lower.) Earlier, me doing stuff around the piso, I heard the whistle of un afilador (a sharpener) [see entry of 27 August, 2001, something I hadn't heard for quite some time. Down the street here, initially, blowing his signal two or three times. He must have found some work -- I heard no more of his pipes for a while. The next time they sounded, I went and leaned out a window. Couldn't see him, couldn't make out where the sound came from as it seemed to bounce off the buildings, making it impossible to position. (The one thing this piso lacks is a balcón or terraza, one of the best features in my first Madrid squat. There are windows I can lean out of, though, and do, though I have to use a chair. Kind of the equivalent of sitting on a phone book to see out the windshield.) Finally, his pipes started up again, off to my right. A moment later he came into view on la Calle de Pelayo, pushing what looked like a brand new moped, shiny and yellow, his grinding wheels mounted on the back. He walked his mobile work area across the small intersection and out of view, the pipes blowing once more. If his wheels are any indication, he may be doing all right with that line of work. Still earlier, during the trip to the gym and back: the first pre-9-a.m. The first Metro train that pulled into the station was crammed with silent passengers, to the point where I couldn't see any available space in any of the doors I checked out. Everyone else on the platform managed to push and/or squeeze themselves in. And it's possible I could have managed it, with some effort and the willingness to endure an uncomfortable ride. But that wasn't how I was looking to start my day. I backed off and waited, people staring at me from inside the train. One young woman standing at the last door in that particular car watched me, maybe wondering why I just didn't put one shoulder down and create some space for myself. I smiled at her, she smiled in return, raised a hand and waved, the doors closed, the train pulled out. Within sixty seconds, another train arrived, this one only half full. Much better. And in this one I saw a mother/father and son, maybe 11 years old. Standing together, appearing South American. The kid wore a New York Yankees cap and a New England Patriots jersey (55 -- McGinest). A little guy wearing the number of a very sizeable human being. More tomorrow. rws 12:31 PM [+]
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