It was friday morning and i was still smiling despite the musical nose snot and tiredness nothing was going to make me depressed (not even being rubbish bored and discouraged at football) Yo tengo una papa, i had a father.
It had been like a fairytale the kind that you dont allow yourself to think about, it had been the kind of night and conversation that you never allow your mind to imagine, its like i had cut it out with an anesthetic. I didnt realize till i herd those words how much my past had effected me.
I couldnt wait until next week, hopefully i would have shifted this stupid cold and figured out to loose the ridiculous amount of weight i seemed to be putting on get my head in the books and go deeper into conversation with him.
His english had been amazing, he had had 4 hours of one on one per week for the last 7 weeks, he´d joked with my mother that his english teacher was rich but that he now spoke english. We had both been so nervous and spent the last month or two preparing. I hadnt realized quite how emotional it had been until i spoke with my other the tears streaming down my face as i recounted his words.
Nothing was going to touch my mood, yo tengo un papa.
Friday, 16 March 2007
Thursday, 15 March 2007
The dream
Last night I had a dream, I walked onto a train bound for Madrid center. I had perfect straight hair and a long white trenchcoat, with a set of heels and a handbag and composed myself to see my natural farther after 8 years.
Fourty five minutes late I skipped out of the first train station to the nearest phone box and explained in perfect spanish that i was running late but was on my way, the voice at the other end reasured me to stay where I was and he would come to get me.
In a loving embrace he kissed me on both cheeks and told me how I looked just like my mother had, he gazed into my eyes in astonishment that this was his daughter. Taking me across town to a restaurant with his typical home food and cider that is poured over the barmans head to a glass down the bottom of his back we shared the finest meats cheeses, red wine steak dessert and coffee while he spoke english and I spoke spanish, there was no confussion only a nervous but perfect atmosphere. His friend of 30 years who remembered my mother sat with us as we talked of food, the language, travel, work and the work i would be doing in india.
He called a cab for me but as it arrived he suggested his friend take it as he had important things to share with me. He told me of the past, he told me he was my father and was here now and always, that he would take care of everything. That I had had a farther who was an amazing man for what he did, but he was around no longer. I was his daughter and he loved me, anything i needed i was to call, he would send me a cellphone so he could speak to me. He said looked forward to see me again next week, and kissed me warmly on each cheek before putting me in my cab.
Only thing was this wasnt a dream.
Fourty five minutes late I skipped out of the first train station to the nearest phone box and explained in perfect spanish that i was running late but was on my way, the voice at the other end reasured me to stay where I was and he would come to get me.
In a loving embrace he kissed me on both cheeks and told me how I looked just like my mother had, he gazed into my eyes in astonishment that this was his daughter. Taking me across town to a restaurant with his typical home food and cider that is poured over the barmans head to a glass down the bottom of his back we shared the finest meats cheeses, red wine steak dessert and coffee while he spoke english and I spoke spanish, there was no confussion only a nervous but perfect atmosphere. His friend of 30 years who remembered my mother sat with us as we talked of food, the language, travel, work and the work i would be doing in india.
He called a cab for me but as it arrived he suggested his friend take it as he had important things to share with me. He told me of the past, he told me he was my father and was here now and always, that he would take care of everything. That I had had a farther who was an amazing man for what he did, but he was around no longer. I was his daughter and he loved me, anything i needed i was to call, he would send me a cellphone so he could speak to me. He said looked forward to see me again next week, and kissed me warmly on each cheek before putting me in my cab.
Only thing was this wasnt a dream.
Sunday, 11 March 2007
sundays and the bar with the well.
This sunday it was good food, the dessert being peanut butter ice-cream and despite being on clean up, i managed to find some of the much talked about spainsh sun to follow. But by evening the ever chasing thought of work to do had got to me, never having a spare minute and every spare second sticking my head in a spanish dictionary or verb sheet in preperation for wednesday i finally hit my breaking point. I hadnt taken much time alone and had spent saturday round madrid with the girls, its was great wading through the mullet-ville of madrids main park, spotting the gorgeous spanish men amongst the tarro and palm readers and harry crishners that greeted you as you headed for a clear patch of sun bathed grass to do some work.
we finally admitted defeat and left for a local jazz bar i had spotted while wondering through those picturesque streets last week. as we sat and worked through the weeks lectures and jouranl reports i tried to get my head around four spanish tenses alternating between coffee and hot toddies for my ever increasing sore throat.
But tonight had been the sunday night escape to Alcalar with Hannah to laugh and take a break. We stopped for pizza at this little argentinian bar first, it was fast becoming our regualr stop, it was nothing special, it was dirty and noisy the football always blearing out. But that didnt matter the pizza was the best in madird and it was cheap we were never entirely sure how much it cost but only knew that the staff were bad at maths as everytime they charged us wrong so leaving the change tray full as we left.
we went to the secret bar, a bar with a courtyard and a well, inside its interior old and unique with dark red walls supporting old chandeliers and chared wood shelving. its bailyes coffees the finest i had ever found, and the tubby barman didnt wrinkle his nose at our bad spaish but always ablidged with a smile. This was a secret we told no-one on the course about as we laughed and exchanged secrets and revelled in someone else who seemd real with an imperfect and generally inappropriate sense of humour. I loved sunday nights in Alcala.
we finally admitted defeat and left for a local jazz bar i had spotted while wondering through those picturesque streets last week. as we sat and worked through the weeks lectures and jouranl reports i tried to get my head around four spanish tenses alternating between coffee and hot toddies for my ever increasing sore throat.
But tonight had been the sunday night escape to Alcalar with Hannah to laugh and take a break. We stopped for pizza at this little argentinian bar first, it was fast becoming our regualr stop, it was nothing special, it was dirty and noisy the football always blearing out. But that didnt matter the pizza was the best in madird and it was cheap we were never entirely sure how much it cost but only knew that the staff were bad at maths as everytime they charged us wrong so leaving the change tray full as we left.
we went to the secret bar, a bar with a courtyard and a well, inside its interior old and unique with dark red walls supporting old chandeliers and chared wood shelving. its bailyes coffees the finest i had ever found, and the tubby barman didnt wrinkle his nose at our bad spaish but always ablidged with a smile. This was a secret we told no-one on the course about as we laughed and exchanged secrets and revelled in someone else who seemd real with an imperfect and generally inappropriate sense of humour. I loved sunday nights in Alcala.
Friday, 9 March 2007
playdough and treacle
Ok so every sunday a different team cook traditional food from their nation. This is your chance to show off your cooking skills, be a team player, and be patriotic, now you know me...re-read this statement. Ok i know really its about the cooks having a day off you get to skive the fridge of spanish church (or if your a particularly possitive person you get to have fun and good food.)
Now after so enjoying apple crumble and custard for the last few years whenever i was away from home or in living in sydney or at the infamous chicken dinner theres nothing better than hot apple crumble and custard (yes before you bombard me i know i said pie is well better than cumbles in my best manc accent but im repenting and changing my hipocritical tune to crumble)
So being the well organised soul who never does anything last minute;) i ran to the internet cafe after a day in madrid to print out a receipe and leg it to the super-duper market before the world here stops for sunday and closes everything except a few select bars where people get manchester-drunk with their families and friends. Now being a spanish super market they didnt have much sugar so i (being a dorris with no phone and everyone at the base out at the morrocan night i should have been at an hour before) i made the executive decision to buy the cubed brown and worry about it later, all 2 kg of it. Then i bought flour hoping for the best not knowing the word in spanish that i was indeed buying flour and not cornflour selfraising flour or actually some new invention of something new they now harvest and bag on the same isle.
So i started the day buy peeling 4kg of apples (actually i started with an illegal size coffee) then making the crumble, i was still making this crumble by the time they came back from church ( a 2.5hr service!) so my freind helped de-marge the now 2 ton pile of margarine crumple that was in the pan, it was 2 bags of extra flour later that it started to look like crumble (by this point it was looking more and more likely we could have buried a full size adult with that aount of crumble mix) in the meanwhile i have started microwaving that sugar 1kg at a time and smashing it (actually it was a young spanish guy was pounding it for me ;) jon taught me delegation) so i* finally get it finished (*me my two mates and the spaniard) and into the oven it goes. - wouldnt mind but we hadnt equaled those two EXTRA bags of flour with extra sugar so it tasted like playdough. 'they'll just think english food is bland, cover it in custard' my mate said cheerfully.
It was another 3 days before i returned to the bucketlaods of crumble mix with another load of apples 2 PACKETS of brown sugar and a will of iron to make this flippin pudding. Only you know when your giving detailed directions you read the wrong part of the receipe? no? well i put the amount of sugar for the crumble into the apple mix, the entire measuring jug.
The phrase cant cook shouldnt be allowed within 100m of all kitchens springs to mind, with the exception that the crumble was great as a treacle pie, lets just pray they never go to england and taste the real thing eh.
Now after so enjoying apple crumble and custard for the last few years whenever i was away from home or in living in sydney or at the infamous chicken dinner theres nothing better than hot apple crumble and custard (yes before you bombard me i know i said pie is well better than cumbles in my best manc accent but im repenting and changing my hipocritical tune to crumble)
So being the well organised soul who never does anything last minute;) i ran to the internet cafe after a day in madrid to print out a receipe and leg it to the super-duper market before the world here stops for sunday and closes everything except a few select bars where people get manchester-drunk with their families and friends. Now being a spanish super market they didnt have much sugar so i (being a dorris with no phone and everyone at the base out at the morrocan night i should have been at an hour before) i made the executive decision to buy the cubed brown and worry about it later, all 2 kg of it. Then i bought flour hoping for the best not knowing the word in spanish that i was indeed buying flour and not cornflour selfraising flour or actually some new invention of something new they now harvest and bag on the same isle.
So i started the day buy peeling 4kg of apples (actually i started with an illegal size coffee) then making the crumble, i was still making this crumble by the time they came back from church ( a 2.5hr service!) so my freind helped de-marge the now 2 ton pile of margarine crumple that was in the pan, it was 2 bags of extra flour later that it started to look like crumble (by this point it was looking more and more likely we could have buried a full size adult with that aount of crumble mix) in the meanwhile i have started microwaving that sugar 1kg at a time and smashing it (actually it was a young spanish guy was pounding it for me ;) jon taught me delegation) so i* finally get it finished (*me my two mates and the spaniard) and into the oven it goes. - wouldnt mind but we hadnt equaled those two EXTRA bags of flour with extra sugar so it tasted like playdough. 'they'll just think english food is bland, cover it in custard' my mate said cheerfully.
It was another 3 days before i returned to the bucketlaods of crumble mix with another load of apples 2 PACKETS of brown sugar and a will of iron to make this flippin pudding. Only you know when your giving detailed directions you read the wrong part of the receipe? no? well i put the amount of sugar for the crumble into the apple mix, the entire measuring jug.
The phrase cant cook shouldnt be allowed within 100m of all kitchens springs to mind, with the exception that the crumble was great as a treacle pie, lets just pray they never go to england and taste the real thing eh.
Prado & parks
It was saturday morning, i had herded everyone together at the aloted time, put the bread in the oven arranged meeting points and times and generally fussed and organised in a fashion somewhere between a mother and hitler.
I left the others to split off and sped round the Prado remebering the first time id come to spain with Nic and our art college, Id come to meet my dad and hadnt even made it to this palace of art, much to my tutors dismay. The architecture of the building interested me more than the renaisance art id spent so long falling asleep infront of during college art history lectures.
I walked out into the sunshine of the botanical gardens, a diluted eden and enjoyed the solitude and beauty before meeting the others and leading them to the gardens talking half an hour to explore the stunning narrow streets nearby. Each window adorned with french window shutters and a foot wide balcony over some bar or other. Expresso bars, tapas bars, jazz bars, park your moped outside bars, everyone oozing effortless hang-out style.
We went last to he cities main park, this was the heart of Madrid, whether posing sleeping, chilling dancing to brazilian drums or rowing it was here. musicuans played by topuaried trees and fountains, and a huge Roman semi circular colonade towered over the lake and people sat relaxing in the sun by mamoth lion castings, the gorgeous spanish men making it the best cat-walk in the city. This was madrid.
I left the others to split off and sped round the Prado remebering the first time id come to spain with Nic and our art college, Id come to meet my dad and hadnt even made it to this palace of art, much to my tutors dismay. The architecture of the building interested me more than the renaisance art id spent so long falling asleep infront of during college art history lectures.
I walked out into the sunshine of the botanical gardens, a diluted eden and enjoyed the solitude and beauty before meeting the others and leading them to the gardens talking half an hour to explore the stunning narrow streets nearby. Each window adorned with french window shutters and a foot wide balcony over some bar or other. Expresso bars, tapas bars, jazz bars, park your moped outside bars, everyone oozing effortless hang-out style.
We went last to he cities main park, this was the heart of Madrid, whether posing sleeping, chilling dancing to brazilian drums or rowing it was here. musicuans played by topuaried trees and fountains, and a huge Roman semi circular colonade towered over the lake and people sat relaxing in the sun by mamoth lion castings, the gorgeous spanish men making it the best cat-walk in the city. This was madrid.
Tuesday, 6 March 2007
cats and dogs
Mt had been a month and it was finally raining like Manchester, my Spanish friend turned round and proudly said "its raining cats and dogs" she was the first morning person id met who made me look like a morning monster, but who could blame her she had been physically healed this week from Tendenitis which ment she lived in pain and could walk very far for the last 3 years and her brother ad just brought her 8 year old daughter to visit. Still a little coffee and i'm sure id be back on her level.
It was wedenesday, the half day the world was my oyster, well I would have my head in the books and when i had finished i would have them in the spanish dictionary my mp3 Spanish course or speaking to any spaniard i could find, a week today i would be sat opposite my dad, my natural spanish father whose english was about as good as my ability to use full stops. It had been nearly eight years since i had last seen him and that was in manchester with the company of my mum who was fluent in spanish.
I had walked away from the payphone 3 times before finally plucking up the courage to make the call and as i sat yesterday i thougt beyond the language barrier to the fact that he was a 48 year old man with spanish culture a wife and 3 kids, beyond how we would communicate i wondered what on earth we would talk about.
It was wedenesday, the half day the world was my oyster, well I would have my head in the books and when i had finished i would have them in the spanish dictionary my mp3 Spanish course or speaking to any spaniard i could find, a week today i would be sat opposite my dad, my natural spanish father whose english was about as good as my ability to use full stops. It had been nearly eight years since i had last seen him and that was in manchester with the company of my mum who was fluent in spanish.
I had walked away from the payphone 3 times before finally plucking up the courage to make the call and as i sat yesterday i thougt beyond the language barrier to the fact that he was a 48 year old man with spanish culture a wife and 3 kids, beyond how we would communicate i wondered what on earth we would talk about.
Thursday, 1 March 2007
would you give it up?
It had been a good week, the new teacher was the head of the school he taught in a methodical, logical way, he asked questions everyone had ever thought but never ask, the questions if you didnt ask someone would have asked you. It didnt hurt, it wasnt too probing it didnt ask anything uncomfortable...of you that is. It was simply challenging to what you believe and why you believe it but nothing too personal was doug up.
Today was about jesus savior of your life, lord of nothing or lord of all there was no half way, areas of your life you havent given up or have reclaimed? nothing too bad so far. First, money, who will you marry, your reputation, your future, your time, your friends, your possessions.......your INDEPENDENCE. my world stood still as he said go and take some time and pray about what it is that you holder dearer than god, what is it that is ´my precious´.
would you give it up?
As i wondered into the park behind my mind boggled at the thought of giving up my independence, my thoughts were directed to god ´does it mean we´re at stalemate if i dont give it up or if I dont want to does it make it a void sacrifice? if i dont give it up it puts a stronghold in my life, it gives satan a stronghold a place and authority - i dont want that. But if i give my indepence to you god, i may not get it back - theres no garentee this is just to test my heart is there. Its a good test though i must admit. What is it in my independence that i submit if i give you this? my choice to run, my freedom, my ability to walk away, my ability to be alone? the only part of being alone that is satisfying truely is time with you god and that i guess is not indepence but both worship and dependence - i want that. So what is so paintful here? what is it that I hold so dear. I give you - if i say my choice to run do i bind myself in something i may not be able to keep? I always have the choice to run.
Giving up independence means letting people in, it means letting people see you be vulnerable.
Im not quite sure how this will work but im open for god to use me, to show me somehow how these qualities can be used for his glory and not to run off. cant say this didnt hurt or that im clear of what it yet means. I cant say i will never use a backpack or be alone again, I felt like i was being asked to give up a part of me, my life. my first thought being ´sure, i´ll just step outside and give up a piece of myself - wont be a min´ being independant is a part of me, its part of my personality. But i guess giving it to god can only bring freedom and mean it can be used in a different way. Im curious if nothing else to see how things change.
´If you try to hang onto your life, you will loose it. But if you give up your life for my sake and for the sake of the good news you will save it.´ mark 8 v 35
Today was about jesus savior of your life, lord of nothing or lord of all there was no half way, areas of your life you havent given up or have reclaimed? nothing too bad so far. First, money, who will you marry, your reputation, your future, your time, your friends, your possessions.......your INDEPENDENCE. my world stood still as he said go and take some time and pray about what it is that you holder dearer than god, what is it that is ´my precious´.
would you give it up?
As i wondered into the park behind my mind boggled at the thought of giving up my independence, my thoughts were directed to god ´does it mean we´re at stalemate if i dont give it up or if I dont want to does it make it a void sacrifice? if i dont give it up it puts a stronghold in my life, it gives satan a stronghold a place and authority - i dont want that. But if i give my indepence to you god, i may not get it back - theres no garentee this is just to test my heart is there. Its a good test though i must admit. What is it in my independence that i submit if i give you this? my choice to run, my freedom, my ability to walk away, my ability to be alone? the only part of being alone that is satisfying truely is time with you god and that i guess is not indepence but both worship and dependence - i want that. So what is so paintful here? what is it that I hold so dear. I give you - if i say my choice to run do i bind myself in something i may not be able to keep? I always have the choice to run.
Giving up independence means letting people in, it means letting people see you be vulnerable.
Im not quite sure how this will work but im open for god to use me, to show me somehow how these qualities can be used for his glory and not to run off. cant say this didnt hurt or that im clear of what it yet means. I cant say i will never use a backpack or be alone again, I felt like i was being asked to give up a part of me, my life. my first thought being ´sure, i´ll just step outside and give up a piece of myself - wont be a min´ being independant is a part of me, its part of my personality. But i guess giving it to god can only bring freedom and mean it can be used in a different way. Im curious if nothing else to see how things change.
´If you try to hang onto your life, you will loose it. But if you give up your life for my sake and for the sake of the good news you will save it.´ mark 8 v 35
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)