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Friday, September 30, 2005 This afternoon, pushing a lawn mower around my little hilltop fiefdom's far too extensive spread of grass, my thoughts drifted around the subject of next week's return to Madrid. Which got me reflecting on adventures I've had over in that part of the world during the last 5+ years. Which in turn got me thinking about my first Spanish sweetheart, Victoria -- an interesting, complicated person who hadn't crossed my thoughts in a long time. A sweetheart in many ways, really, and someone I think I barely got to know, despite our several months in each other's company. Bright, pretty, intelligent. In her late 30's, never married, still living with her parents. Sheltered in some ways. Hugely sophisticated in others, given that she worked as a judge, handled capital cases. Long, black hair that fell in ringlets. Dark eyes. A nice smile that occasionally expanded into something far more extravagant -- radiant, slightly off-kilter, a bit goofy. Short, compensating with high, high heels, shoes clearly not foot-friendly, Victoria not seeming to notice the strange angles her big toes had taken after years of that kind of footwear. I met her in the course of apartment hunting during my first month in Madrid, checking out a small flat owned by her parents. The place didn't suit me, especially at the monthly rent they were looking for. She must not have held that against me, though, because she managed to get the number of where I was staying from the realtor and called me one evening. I'd begun intensive Spanish classes during the days, but even so, trying to keep up with the Spanish coming out of the phone as this woman talked at me made my brain hurt, had me straining to get the gist of what she said and pull together primitive replies coherent enough that she wouldn't think me a complete nitwit. She was on the faculty of a law school in town, seemed to be saying that if I had any interest in working there as a teacher of English, she'd vouch for me, guide me through the process. Seemed awfully generous. We spoke a couple of times, her pursuing that line of talk through much of it, asking if I'd like to meet to talk further. (Suits me just fine when a woman takes the initiative like that. I've done more than my share of asking women out -- remind me to tell you about the time I paused while biking through traffic to ask out a woman sitting in her car at a red light -- and I think it's great when the female member of the equation takes a risk. The most recent time it happened: a couple of weeks ago. But that's another story.) [continued in entry of October 14] Madrid, te echo de menos. rws 9:51 PM [+]
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