Spanish lessons. I knew there was something I’d forgotten to put on the “to do” list. In time honoured fashion I’ve left it late, but I’m finally grappling with the realisation that “Dos cervezas, por favor” isn’t going to cut it.
Nor is “¿Habla usted Ingles?, but I imagine I’ll be deploying it all the same.
K has organised lessons for us and we’re taking them together; an arrangement that has made her superior grasp of the grammar abundantly clear.
Not that I have failed to prepare – cultural orientation is well underway; a history of Moorish Spain and a good translation of Don Quixote. I tackle both with a bottle of Spanish red, and I’m getting better at tortilla con patata, so it isn’t as if I’m not making an effort.
Every time I look at K she is wrapping something up and putting it in a box. She is getting out of bed early to do it. It’s not packing; it’s a coping mechanism, but it gets the packing done. The house is awash with cardboard and white tape marked FRAGILE in big red letters. We’ve decided to just mark everything as fragile, although the contents of many of the boxes are a good bit sturdier than our current state of mind.
The “to do” list is my coping mechanism. As I tick items off from the top I add new ones to the bottom. It’s the same bloody length as it was a month ago, but gradually migrating south.
Soon it will be our turn to do the same.