In Plenary, Practice on August 17, 2011 at 11:35 am
“Shush!” I tell K, by way of encouragement.
She is at her newly acquired sewing machine, struggling with the spool or the spindle or whatever it is. I am at the laptop twittering. She came back to the apartment this afternoon with some blue print cotton and in an impressively few minutes has knocked out a thoroughly decent looking sleeveless top. No pattern or anything to work from. Nothing gets K going like couture. It must occur to her from time to time that I am not so much of a catch on that front – my idea of fashion is a “nice white shirt” or – if the occasion requires serious effort – a blazer.
The buying of the machine was a mental milestone for her. We have both been nervous this summer. Not nervous bad; nervous good. We are approaching the end of our first year here and so all self-congratulation must now be put aside; we have to get serious – we made the move to chase our dreams and we haven’t caught up with them yet. We are beginning to see that year two will be more pivotal for us than year one. We will need very good Spanish and a lot of guts. We will need to embrace the shot in the dark, the white knuckle, the wing, the prayer. More
In Practice, Production on May 9, 2011 at 8:53 am
I’m walking through a drab suburb to the school and a shift I’m not in the mood for.
The few of us who just got off the bus trudge along in single file and mp3 privacy. The pavement is an ill-considered reddish colour that meanders alongside a concrete cycle path and descends into the housing development where the school is. The adjacent gutter is strewn with the debris of the careless. I pass empty drink cartons, what look like the innards of a TV, dead batteries, dog do, discarded packets and wrappers – dietary supplements and low fat milk substitutes.
I will get to the school and instead of sitting outside and enjoying an hour of sunshine before work starts I will sit at a net book in the cool, concrete and fluorescent-lit classroom trying to do too much in the time available. More
In Presentation on April 12, 2011 at 10:07 am
The levante has been blowing for days. It keeps us all inside and dusts the town in a fine sand. Kites are grounded. Bars are quiet and restaurants don’t bother with terrace tables. Noisy fronds flap horizontally from leaning palms along the street that descends into Tarifa from the highway. It’s like a ghost town, complete with howling.
Wind has names. According to where it comes from it is the levante – a gentle wind that rises around the Balearic Islands in a Mediterranean stupor and then reaches gale force in these Straits, the sirocco – a hurricane of sand from the sahara, the ostro – a warm and rainy Adriatic breeze, the libeccio that pummels Corsican summers, the poniente that blows in through the Straits from the west and keeps the kitesurfers aloft, the mistral of France and its southern shores and the tramontane which blows in over mountains from the north like a cold barbarian. More