Mid-August
Tomorrow is the fifteenth of August. Most of southern Europe and some of central and northern Europe will be on holiday. The Assumption of the Virgin Mary was once very important in the calendar year. Now it's nice to have a day off in the middle of summer. Many, many parishes all over Spain are celebrating their feast day this weekend, ours included. Generally, our feast day is on the second Sunday in August and this year it almost coincides with the Assumption. We celebrate Saint Mary, and Saint Roche, and Saint Anne, each its own day, so our festival runs from the Friday to the Sunday.
And, now that the tradition of sitting to a Sunday-cum-feastday dinner has been complied with, most of us are complying with the traditional nap after dinner to help digestion. So, most of us, cats included, are sleeping it off in the cool house or in the outside shade. Even the amount of traffic on the road slacks at this hour. Some have already been sleeping all morning, only getting up to sit at the table. Those are the ones which went to the festival last night, and stayed until it ended around seven in the morning. In Spain, if a festival doesn't last into the night and until next morning, it's not a festival. The music also has to boom loud enough to be heard in the entire parish, and make it impossible for those who attend, to stand in front of the loudspeakers.
Along with the festivals and celebrations, it's the season for those who have emigrated to return and visit their families. In Galicia we say someone has emigrated even when they have simply moved to another part of Spain. In this way, my husband has family in the Balearic Islands, Barcelona, Paris, the Canary Islands, Madrid, and Buenos Aires. I have family (that I know of) in Bilbao, New York, and the Boston area, with distant cousins in Buenos Aires. I might also have family in Cuba, thanks to a great-uncle that was last heard of from there. Everyone has family somewhere else. Generally they all tend to visit during the summer, and sometimes at Christmas, as well. My brother-in-law with his wife and two girls are here from the Balearics for a week. My other brother-in-law will arrive shortly from Barcelona. It's a time for cousins to reacquaint themselves, for table leaves to be extended, and sight-seeing trips planned. There is much movement of bed linen and examination of pantries. My mother-in-law probably has the sacrifice of a chicken or two planned, as well. Living conditions here and elsewhere will be examined, news of the year told and retold, children grilled over school grades, those who have left for city living will remember how to use a scythe or drive a tractor, and some children will see a farm animal for the first time.
I remember the summers when I came on vacation as a child. The thing I remember most is the different smells. There were the agreeable smells of pine and greenery, and the sea at low tide. Then there were the less agreeable smells of chicken coop, pig sty, and cow shed. When I was nine I liked to ride the donkey when my uncle let me, but I didn't like the smell. Nor the flies. I'd never seen so many flies before! In Boston the screens on the doors and windows meant few flies entered the house, but even outside there weren't as many flies as there were here. The mosquitoes were also obnoxious, and I would look like they were using me for target practice.
I also remember feast day dinners, and how eternal they were. Eternal because, after eating, the adults would still sit around the table, drinking coffee or liqueurs, with two or three different groups arguing, gesticulating, laughing, or shaking their heads, over different stories or memories or opinions. My cousin and I would run away from the table as soon as we could and go play. If we were eating at her house, we would go get her neighbor and the three of us would think up some activity that would be more interesting to us than listening to the adults' interminable talk. Much the same as cousins do today when their families have gathered for the feast day. Vacations, summers, feast days. The years change, but their essence remains the same.
And, now that the tradition of sitting to a Sunday-cum-feastday dinner has been complied with, most of us are complying with the traditional nap after dinner to help digestion. So, most of us, cats included, are sleeping it off in the cool house or in the outside shade. Even the amount of traffic on the road slacks at this hour. Some have already been sleeping all morning, only getting up to sit at the table. Those are the ones which went to the festival last night, and stayed until it ended around seven in the morning. In Spain, if a festival doesn't last into the night and until next morning, it's not a festival. The music also has to boom loud enough to be heard in the entire parish, and make it impossible for those who attend, to stand in front of the loudspeakers.
Along with the festivals and celebrations, it's the season for those who have emigrated to return and visit their families. In Galicia we say someone has emigrated even when they have simply moved to another part of Spain. In this way, my husband has family in the Balearic Islands, Barcelona, Paris, the Canary Islands, Madrid, and Buenos Aires. I have family (that I know of) in Bilbao, New York, and the Boston area, with distant cousins in Buenos Aires. I might also have family in Cuba, thanks to a great-uncle that was last heard of from there. Everyone has family somewhere else. Generally they all tend to visit during the summer, and sometimes at Christmas, as well. My brother-in-law with his wife and two girls are here from the Balearics for a week. My other brother-in-law will arrive shortly from Barcelona. It's a time for cousins to reacquaint themselves, for table leaves to be extended, and sight-seeing trips planned. There is much movement of bed linen and examination of pantries. My mother-in-law probably has the sacrifice of a chicken or two planned, as well. Living conditions here and elsewhere will be examined, news of the year told and retold, children grilled over school grades, those who have left for city living will remember how to use a scythe or drive a tractor, and some children will see a farm animal for the first time.
I remember the summers when I came on vacation as a child. The thing I remember most is the different smells. There were the agreeable smells of pine and greenery, and the sea at low tide. Then there were the less agreeable smells of chicken coop, pig sty, and cow shed. When I was nine I liked to ride the donkey when my uncle let me, but I didn't like the smell. Nor the flies. I'd never seen so many flies before! In Boston the screens on the doors and windows meant few flies entered the house, but even outside there weren't as many flies as there were here. The mosquitoes were also obnoxious, and I would look like they were using me for target practice.
I also remember feast day dinners, and how eternal they were. Eternal because, after eating, the adults would still sit around the table, drinking coffee or liqueurs, with two or three different groups arguing, gesticulating, laughing, or shaking their heads, over different stories or memories or opinions. My cousin and I would run away from the table as soon as we could and go play. If we were eating at her house, we would go get her neighbor and the three of us would think up some activity that would be more interesting to us than listening to the adults' interminable talk. Much the same as cousins do today when their families have gathered for the feast day. Vacations, summers, feast days. The years change, but their essence remains the same.
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