Madrid has been humming today, in a nice way. Most businesses opened for at least part of the year's final calendar entry. Workers showed up at the building going up across the street, making noise for an hour or so beginning around 8:30, then mysteriously melting away as the morning wore on and local streets grew busy with people out doing errands -- streaming in and out of the Metro, picking up a paper at the kiosk in the local plaza, buying food and drink for dinners and parties being given tonight. Cafés and restaurants seemed to get underway a bit earlier than normal, customers seemed to materialize as soon as the doors opened.
I stopped in at one of my preferred neighborhood a.m. caffeine pushers. As I stood reading a paper, sipping wake-up juice, a diminutive elderly woman appeared to my left, standing before the counter -- wearing a gray cloth coat and tired-looking brown shoes, expression serious, thinning gray hair clipped tightly behind her head. She asked the counterperson how much a glass of brandy cost, he said one euro and change. She counted out the correct sum from a small handful of coins, he set a snifter in front of her, disappeared, then reappeared a moment later, bottle in hand. She deposited a small, neat stack of coins on the counter, he poured her a hit of dark liquid. She spent three or four minutes working her way through it -- deliberate, measured, one little taste at a time. When the glass had been emptied, she fastened up her coat, called out "¡Hasta luego!", disappeared out the door.
Fireworks have gone off throughout the afternoon and evening, finally coming to a stop about an hour ago, possibly a sign that people are moving into the city center, to la Plaza de la Puerta del Sol, the traditional location to greet the new year in these parts, Madrid's version of New Year's Eve in Times Square. Other folks are at dinners with family, with friends, getting ready for the countdown of the final 12 seconds of 2003, when one is supposed to eat a grape for each passing second, 12 grapes in all, to ensure good luck in the coming year. (There are companies that actually sell tins of 12 peeled, pitted grapes -- a product whose ads appear on television immediately after Christmas, vanish immediately after midnight on New Year's Eve.) People will do the ritual, the year will arrive to big noise, lots of carrying on. Partying in the streets will continue for a while, many will at some point head off to gatherings in homes, restaurants, clubs.
I ate lunch this afternoon at a restaurant here in the barrio, seated at a small table between two other small tables. To my left sat a couple who spoke not a word to each other, remaining silent the entire meal. At the other sat a 30-something black American male and a 30-something Spanish woman -- friends apparently, not lovers. Talking the entire time, their conversation loud enough that I couldn't help but hear every single blessed word. He looked for things to complain about, seeing the complications, the downsides in everything they discussed. She, on the other hand, sought out the positive aspects. She liked life, appreciated her particular existence, gently balanced out his carping. He owned an art gallery, which allowed him to travel, connected him with lots of people, provided him a pretty good life, though he seemed to have some trouble enjoying it. She worked a job that kept her in an office long hours and entailed some traveling. He chided her about working every night 'til midnight, she said she did it because she liked the work, and seemed to mean it. Near the end of the meal, she mentioned her father had given some money for Christmas. Her dining partner asked how much, she lowered her voice when she answered so that I couldn't hear the reply. He immediately blurted out (at twice his previous volume), "20,000 euros???"
Good for her, I thought, pulling on my coat, heading out into the afternoon air. It got me thinking about a Christmas gift I received when I was 13 or 14, something that showed up unexpectedly from our family's only wealthy relative. Enclosed in a Christmas card. When I opened the card -- a bit mystified, this being the first card I'd ever received from that relative -- I found it contained a length of odd-looking paper, folded in half. My fingers pulled it out, unfolded it, gently spread it flat. A bank check, looking mighty formal, the amount of money it represented printed in official-looking characters of both black and red ink. My eyes scanned it, expecting to find numbers in the neighborhood of $25, $30 -- $50 at most, a sum that would have felt amazingly, wonderfully over the top. The figure that met my eyes began with the number 3, followed by zeros. Several zeros. $3,000.00 worth of them, in fact, a number sizeable enough to make my mouth drop open. One of ten such checks my aunt gave that year, sending them off to various branches of the family, all part of a tax deduction move.
It lasted me several years, that $3,000.00. Bought me my first good stereo and other things that expanded my little world outward.
That was a while ago, back when years began with the numerals 1 and 9. 2004 now waits in the wings. Any number of surprising developments may come our way in the calendar pages that lay ahead. As we stumble through them, may we remember that each passing day is a gift -- transitory, fleeting, full of promise. It's a hell of show, this life. Easily worth taking a moment to appreciate now and then.