Friday, December 14 - Feria de Santa Lucía

Tomorrow I am breaking my Advent resolution and we are going to the Feria de Santa Lucía. it's a CHRISTmas Fleamarket located in the plaza in front of the Barcelona Cathedral. Those of you who listen to SQPN podcasts may remember Brother Giles taking a soundseeing tour around this same cathedral.
It is said that if you can't find something at this CHRISTmas market, you can't find it anywhere. They may just be right.
We are going to buy some more figurines for Julian's nativity. He's got the important ones, Mary, Joseph, Baby Jesus, the Wise Men, donkey, ox, even some Roman soldiers. Now we want some villagers, a well that pumps water, a wood burning oven that doesn't burn anything and assorted animals.
We are hoping to put up our Nativity scene this weekend. Unlikely. i've got my students' reports to proof, last minute details for the CHRISTmas pageant, the house is a mess, and the fridge is empty. So, am I stressing? No. Inevitably everything gets done wether I stress or not. The Nativity scene will be beautiful no matter what. D. will clean the house. On CHRISTmas Day, after the dust of pulverized gift wrapping settles, we will calmly sit back and look at the Baby in the manger and we won't remember the rush or the stress.

Happy Turkey Day

Oh yes, another Thanksgiving away from Mom's house. I miss this holiday soooooo much. CHRISTmas is CHRISTmas anywhere, because He is everywhere. But Thanksgiving... well, that's strictly US.
I can try duplicating the Thanksgiving dinner, (The first time I attempted here in Barcelona I had so saw off half of the drumstick bones because the 12 lbs. bird did now fit into my small oven), but it's not the same. No cranberries here. No pumpkin pie spice. No brown sugar to make most of the desserts that I love. And, I can never make Thanksgiving dinner on Thanksgiving Day. I must wait until the following Saturday, as I must work on Thursday.
So I've given up trying to make our Thanksgiving dinner authentic. I simply make turkey, mashed potatoes with gravy and a simple apple pie.
What I will do is go to Mass on Thursday and Saturday and give the Lord thanks for the usual things and some that are not so usual. Here's the rundown:
Him
My son and husband
Family
Friends
Health
Job
My little ones
My coworkers
Internet (I can keep in touch with anybody)
My calling plan (I can call Mom and talk to her for 30 minutes each day)
The newsstand guy (he saves a Martha Stewart Living magazine each month and hard to find trading cards for Julian)
All the podcasting priests
All podcasting Catholics
All Catholic podcasts
...

At the end of the day, each day not just Thanksgiving, what really counts is that we recognize how lucky we are that we have so much to be thankful for.

Montjuich 1 - Marnie 0

Al final, no ha podido ser.

Pero realmente ha sido un alivio presentarme y quitarme el miedo de encima. Las últimas 72 horas han sido una tortura para mí. No tanto porque no me sentía preparada, sino porque el mito que envuelve el subir a examen es abrumador.

Ne he podido comer ni dormir bien estos dos últimos días. He estado obsesionada con la tercera marcha (mi punto débil, que al final de cuentas y cuentos no ha sido el problema.) Anoche no se cuántos rosarios llegué a rezar (la verdad es que me tranquilizó bastante.) Esta mañana/madrugada me desperté a las cuatro, asustada porque en mis sueños había atropellado a un peatón (se les llama a las personas que suelen merodear cerca de los cruces, indecisos ellos, hasta que ven un coche de autoescuela, y aprovechan para cruzar.) Al no poder conciliar el sueño, me levanté a eschuchar unos cuantos podcasts:

4am - Verbum Domini

4:06 - Pray-as-you-go

4:19 - Pray Station Portable

4:30 - Shower

Y me sobraban 2 horas para llegar a la autoescuela.

A las siete de la mañana, esperé junto a una chica joven y una señora mayor a que llegase el coche. Le señora se había presentado a examen dos veces. Para la chica era la primera vez.

Nos dirigimos hacia Montjuich. La señora y yo hicimos una última práctica. Lo sorprendente es que ya no estaba nerviosa. Me daba lo mismo.

Me tocó a mi primero. Los detalles son bastante aburridos (que si vamos a la derecha, que si vamos a la izquierda, que si aparque usted cuando pueda.) Fueron los diez minutos más largos de mi vida. Lo único que puedo decir es que me encontré con dos cruces de peatones (peatones incluidos) en los que no paré. Suspenso. En este caso, fueron lo peatones los que me hicieron daño a mí.

La próxima... ya veremos.

Ahora sólo toca hacer un mes de vacaciones y en septiembre apor ellos, oe.

The Border re-visited!

Ten days ago, my friend Carl paid me a visit. Had a great time with him, mostly chatted about grad school experiences. It was as if we had just picked up where our last conversation left off. Well, not quite. My Spanish has greatly improved and I'm not as reserved as I was nine years back.
Carl's comments about writing, about my constant treading on borders that got me thinking again. Really thinking.
Sure, born in El Paso, Texas, physical border. Growing up in an American environment with Mexican parents teaching and expecting us to live in a displaced Mexican culture. Becoming aware of being Chicana (feeling Mexican, feeling American, belonging to nothing and the possibility of belonging to both at the same time. See JBN, I was listening!).
Then marrying a Spaniard. From Catalonia (border culture here too). Moving to Barcelona and being Chicana is all of the sudden not important anymore. So, what now? American, that's it!
But, in every conversation I had with any Spaniard, I had to defend the American government. Hard enough to do with Clinton and his Oval Office tryst (What was her name? Oh who cares... Miss I'll-Keep-The-Blue-Dress-Just-In-Case) but absolutely impossible with the Texas Butcher at the helm.
So, back to being Mexican. But that wasn't right either. Easy solution. Become Spanish. That's right, Spanish citizenship. What the heck. It's just a paper anyway!

Fins aviat!