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Saturday, April 09, 2005 Sometime during last night's wee hours, the song 'It's My Life' (originally by criminally underrated Talk Talk, recently redone in cheerfully over-the-top fashion by Gwen Stefani and No Doubt) wormed its way into my teeny brain, coming to life as soon as my eyes opened this morning, playing itself over and over and over. Not that I'm complaining -- it's a fine, poignant tune, a nice soundtrack for a cold morning. And it was a genuinely brisk morning. Winter has reappeared here, settling sneakily back in yesterday as the temperature dropped throughout the afternoon. With nightfall, a cold, gusty wind got blowing and the mercury slipped below freezing, sparking amazed, plaintive noises of distress from the underdressed locals (myself included). North of Madrid snow fell, this morning's news bringing reports of roads closed in various mountain passes. Never really any telling what April's going to bring, is there? (On impulse, I checked the weather for Vermont where it appears that the lying bastards in the weather biz are also mumbling about possible spring snow.) This morning, doing some errands near Sol -- deeper into the city center, a zone thick with tourists these days -- I stopped in at a drugstore where a matronly, 60ish English woman made smiling complaints about the weather. ("I came here to get away from the cold," said she. "It's worse here than it is at home!") The counter help responded with good-natured assurances of warmer weather's return. She looked over at me as if for confirmation, I smiled, saying nothing. Too early for weather blab. I'd done plenty just getting myself out the door to pick up some groceries. Outside, the morning slowly got underway, sidewalks gradually filling with people. A white westy terrier trotted along behind its owner, stubby tail wagging with every step, curious about whatever it passed, trying to get a good whiff of everything it could, including the legs of two construction workers who didn't appear interested in cooperating. Someone else passed walking either a large whippet or a small greyhound, the dog so light on its feet that it barely seemed to touch the ground. It watched the passing world, its eyes suggesting deep melancholy, its expression sad in a way I haven't seen in a long time on any face, canine or otherwise -- strangely at variance with its body's easy movements. A father, tall and Iberian looking, walked slowly along with a beautiful little girl, maybe three years old, her wrapped up in warm clothes, the two of them hand in hand. Two men standing in a pharmacy doorway said gentle hellos to the child, her dark eyes regarding them seriously, her gaze steady. One of the men bent down, extending a large grown-up hand toward her -- as she passed, the child reached out, their fingers touched for a moment, the man's briefly pressing hers in greeting. Faces all around watched, everyone smiling with enjoyment of the scene. And then the father and daughter were gone, moving off down the sidewalk. The two men in the doorway squinted up into the sunlight as they stood talking to each other. The day moved on, as days do. April 9th, 2005. Madrid. Madrid, te quiero. rws 10:01 AM [+]
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