Spanish views from a small town

Halloween was the last day of the year for the old Europeans. As the year died, and the vegetation died, it was considered the day of the dead. The dead were honored by the firesides that night, where a chair was set aside for them, with some food nearby. Halloween has long since become a commericialized festival, gone the way Christmas is going and any other festival anyone can make a cent off. But in Spain it's still the eve of the day of the dead.  Tomorrow the dead are honored here. Cemeteries are visited and flower arrangements are admired. Because that's how we honor our loved ones in Spain. The day before we take flower arrangements to the graves. And, according to local tradition, candles are lit at each tomb, or light bulbs are connected by an electrician with a waiting list of people in different parts of the cemetery. I don't buy a candle or pay for a lightbulb. I light a parrafin lamp at my mother's grave. The flowers used to be home-grown once. But no

There is really very little to say. The images shown on the news these nights of people escaping war and certain death make me ashamed. Ashamed of being a European in a country whose leaders, along with the leaders of other European countries, do nothing more than say something must be done. But nothing is done, except the erection of more fences, and more hot air expended in meetings that bring about nothing while thousands are searching for a dream of an existence they once had but have lost.  They have lost comfortable lives because of the intervention of the West in their countries. Because of our habits of colonialization. If not by taking over their countries, then by ignoring their customs and beliefs and insisting that our social systems become theirs. Because, of course, our systems are superior. Especially when those countries have resources vital to our systems. At all costs, our way of life must continue and we must have those resources to maintain it. And so we destroy t

Once upon a time sheep were as important to the lands of the Spanish meseta as they were in England. In fact, fine merino wool was exported from Castile to England. And until the eighteenth century it was against the law to take a merino sheep outside Spain. It was punishable by death. That guaranteed the Spanish monopoly for many years. And Spain being a country of meteorological contrasts between the plains and the mountains, the sheep were kept in the mountains in summer and brought to the plains in winter. Thus began the trashumancia . It's a purely Latinate word. Tras means "the other side" and humancia comes from humus , "earth." Literally "the other side of the earth." And in the Middle Ages, driving the herds for days from one end of the country to the other, that must have been what it seemed like. But so important were the sheep herds for the economy, that the owners created an association, the Mesta , and controlled the herding and bree

I'm too young to have ever taken a home ec class in high school. By the time I entered those halls of learning, it had become a relic of the past. I was always under the impression that it had been a way to get good girls ready for their role in society as wife, mother, and homemaker. And that the then-few girls that decided to continue their education were considered failures as proper women. I'm simplifying, but when home ec was common in high schools women were still being held back in the job world. Well, the conservative party that is ruling at this moment in Spain, has decided that it's a good idea to reintroduce the idea of homemaking as a career. At the end of this last August, a law was approved amplifying what can be studied in vocational schools. One of those new courses of study is Actividades domésticas y limpieza de edificios (Domestic activities and cleaning in buildings). Its objective is to prepare a student to be able to keep a household and know how to

Yesterday I saw the chestnut roaster installed in the town where I do my weekly shopping. The smell of the burning wood and the sight of the vendor rolling newspaper into cones confirmed that we are well into the autumn season. He's already been there for the past few Saturdays, but yesterday I noticed him more keenly. Every fall I go hunting down lanes and byways for the greenish brown burs filled with chestnuts. I have learned to push and pull with my feet to open them and thus avoid the sharp needles. The chestnuts, roly-poly shining brown, lie scattered around, escaped from burs that fell earlier and split open. Generally I feel lucky if I can gather a half kilo for an evening of roasting. Yes, it would be easier to go to a greengrocer's or a supermarket and just fill a bag from the pile, but it's not the same. There's something about scavenging for autumn fruits that is anciently human and makes you feel good when you have found a quantity that satisfies you. 

Fifty-six percent of my electric bill is made up of taxes and other charges. The rest is a result of turning on the lights and taking the liberty of having a computer, a refrigerator, a television, a radio-alarm, and running water. And occasionally plugging in a microwave, coffee pot, hair dryer, or using the oven. And one or two electric stoves to warm up a room in winter. I have nothing else, no washer, dryer, stove top, kitchen extractor, water heater, heating system, dishwasher, or other appliances that could make it expensive to live with a little less work. But every two months I get a bill that makes me desire to pull out the electric meter from the wall and remove myself from the modern world. For Spanish households the light bill has gone up 52 percent between 2008 and 2014. And it wasn't someone with a pony tail who is looking to become the next Prime Minister in December who proclaimed that. The study was made by the Oxford Institute for Energy Studies. And, according

The calendar is lying to me. It says we're entering the latter part of October, but the supermarkets are telling me December has just begun. All the Christmas goodies have been set out, begging you to buy them and start eating them. Why wait two more months to get fat on a two- or four-day sweets binge? Start now! That's how Christmas begins here. With the sweets. Right after that we'll start to see some tinsel in other stores. But it always begins with the displays of sweets in the supermarkets. You can take your pick on how to gain a few kilos. There's turrón (nougat) to begin. This sweet is shared with the Italians, who also make it, only theirs is chewy. I remember my mother sometimes buying it in an Italian grocery store in Boston's North End when I was a little girl. The truth is, it's common to most Mediterranean countries. The Italian versions are older than the Roman Empire. Ours originated with the Moors who brought it from other countries in North

Housework. Some people are allergic to it. I know I am. But there's allergies and there's allergies. My allergy refers to non-essential cleaning, such as dust, windows, etc. Putting things away is also not my forte. Plates, pots and pans, clothes, and other things and areas are kept rather clean. I don't accumulate five bags of trash, for instance, before taking it outside. But then there are the allergies to housework that belong to college students. I assume many students are the same. Different people living in rented apartments. Classes, study, parties, errands. Then there's probably the eternal, "It was your turn today." "No, my turn is on Tuesdays." "But I exchanged with you last Tuesday because Wednesday was impossble." "I don't have a signed contract mentioning that." And so on. In the end, when you walk into a student apartment, the first thing you notice is the smell. You are forced to ask, "When was the last

In Almería province there is a fishing village with an evocative name, Palomares. The name means dovecotes, and brings to mind the cooing of doves and peaceful surroundings. In Spain its name brings to mind midnight minus two seconds. In 1966 Franco was a firm ally of the United States. After all, through the Marshall Plan at the end of World War II, the United States brought much- needed relief to a country that had not been able to recuperate from a bestial Civil War ten years earlier and punishment inflicted during the World War for being an ally of the Axis powers. Franco was a shrewd dictator and knew when to cut his losses and make an international about face. As the War drew to a close, and it was obvious his friend Hitler was going to lose, Franco decided Spain wasn't going down with the ship. He cut his ties and turned to the Allies as a neutral. He was admitted into the club and was given relief. In return, he ceded territory for the United States to use as air bases at

Yesterday, the polemical archbishop of Valencia, Antonio Cañizares, had a small car accident. Nothing more than a few scratches happened to anybody involved, but it seemed like his Boss was calling him out for some of the comments he had made a couple of days earlier. Monsignor referred to the wave of immigrants escaping war and poverty and called it a "Trojan horse" that we were welcoming. He stated that the Christian identity of Europe is being threatened, and that we should look at what is behind this massive migration, hinting that the objective is to "overrun" Europe with Muslim immigrants. He also mentioned that reports of poverty in Spain are exaggerated, and that he hasn't noticed more people begging in the streets.  But not all the poor are in the streets. Many of the poor are working poor, with job contracts of a week or two in which they earn less than minimum wage, which is just over six hundred euros a month and is not a living wage by any stretch

The nights are getting cooler, so last night I decided to light the wood stove to keep the temperature in the house nice as long as possible. I was alone at the time but didn't think I would have a problem. There was some paper-based trash already in the stove, waiting to be burnt, so I put some thin sticks on it and set a match to it.  From there on in things got on a downhill roller coaster. Some smoke started coming out of the rings on top of the stove. I opened the door to the ashtray wider, hoping for an updraft. I could hope all night because I wasn't getting one. The smoke, dense and dark grey, got worse. The paper was burning just fine, but the chimney didn't want any part of this.  I unscrewed the lower door that led to the chimney and tried to create an updraft burning newspaper just inside it. Not with all the smoke pouring out of there. The newspaper burned, but that was it. I looked around and all I could see was a thick London fog. I looked back at the sto