Showing posts from June, 2019

Mom's Moving Service

This is my vacation week before my summer classes begin. After this, I'll be busy until September, my unpaid vacation month. Yesterday, I went to Pontevedra to wander around on my own for about an hour, after doing my morning walk a bit late. (Hi, Colin, it was nice to meet you!) In the afternoon, after a fast sandwich, I was off to Santiago to bring down some of my daughter's stuff. After seven years of being a student in Santiago, she's finally presenting her requisite thesis at the beginning of next month, and ending formal schooling. Despite joining in the graduation ceremony last year, she left the thesis for this year to be able to concentrate better on it. Now, it's at an end, and the contract on the rented student apartment also comes to an end on the last day of this month. So, packing is in order. It's a good thing my daughter is a frugal girl and doesn't buy left and right. Even so, the amount of tat gathered over seven years is frightening. There

Too Much Self

When I was a little girl in Catholic school back in Boston, I was taught that humility is a virtue. I was taught that I wasn't the important one; others were. That teaching conditioned me a lot. I never tried to showcase myself in a situation. Yes, I was selfish plenty of times, what kid isn't, especially an only child? But I tried to be aware of others. I grew up loving beautiful images, and, when I was a teenager, I tried to capture them. My parents bought me a reflex camera and I started to train myself to see my surroundings properly. Since I was the one holding the camera, pictures of me from late adolescence onward are rare. Only on our day trips, or on special occasions, has my husband taken over my camera to take a photo of me. My current Facebook profile picture was one such moment.  When I wander around, I like to look at the places I visit, and take pictures to remember them accordingly. I know I was there; I have no reason to plaster my face into those pictures.

Concert Evening

Now that we're getting old, we're going out to concerts. Last year, we camped out at the Resurrection Fest, and saw Scorpions, in July. Then we drove to A Coruña to see The Pretenders at the Festival do Noroeste, in August. This year, we saw Mark Knopfler in A Coruña, in May, and last Saturday we went to the music festival in Santiago, O Son do Camiño, to see Iggy Pop. We've been to other concerts at the Monte do Gozo, the hill outside Santiago that shares an amphitheatre with a pilgrims' hostel complex. The first was in 1993 to see Bruce Springsteen. The second was to see Bob Dylan in 2004. Back then, the amphitheatre had seats and was more comfortable. Then, at the oversold Bruce Springsteen concert a few years ago, the seats were filled in to sell more tickets and now the seats are simply low ledges difficult for a fifty-year old to sit on in any kind of comfort.  But sitting was done only in between acts. When we arrived, at just after eight in the evening, the

Suicide by Trash

This past week, town workers have gone and cleaned the ditches and shoulders of the road we sit on. Now, on my morning walks, not only do I have room to escape from a car without having to entangle myself in brambles, I can also look and see the detritus of our civilization.  Plastic wrappers, plastic bags, soda and water bottles, shredded Nestea cans, tattered cigarette packets, and a plethora of beer cans litter the ditch. It's amazing what people will throw out of car windows. Then, there's the debris left behind from a recent accident; pieces of a bumper, side mirror, and other pieces of hard plastic with no discernible relationship to a car.  Generally, Europe is a clean place. At least, it is compared to Boston. I remember the last time I went to Boston (fourteen years already!), stepping out of the terminal at Logan airport onto the street. The first thing that caught my eye was the trash. Despite a large trash can, everything was scattered on the ground. The streets

"You Can't Make Me!"

I have various cats. Some of those various cats have had medical problems from time to time. I have had to take them to the vet. Some protest little when the time comes to get into the carrier or to take medicine. I have one, that when I bring out the carrier, comes to sniff it, and even steps inside. Curiosity rules. Others, you can't even see their shadow. Survival rules. My oldest, Matrionuxca, had a problem with an abscess and had been seeing the vet regularly for the past couple of weeks. The first time, it was easy to introduce her into the carrier; she hadn't seen it for a while. Last week was the last day she had an appointment. I tiptoed with the carrier into the kitchen, carefully, without making a sound. Even so, she spied me, and when I went to pick her up, she had her suspicions confirmed, and tried to slip away. Putting her in face first was a no-no. She stiffened into a block with strange angles and wouldn't be moved in. I had to turn her around, and, looki