first time as head coach

I am so trying to enjoy my day after my soccer team won last night's game (7-2) and I was the only coach on the bench. We played against Histolaric at home but I knew this team has not done well in the first 9 games of the season. Still I was nervous about my Spanish and the referee did not make it easy.

We have a book with the player's paperwork in. Each player and coach is documented to play and before the game we present this book to the ref. Normally the book is all prepared and ready to go but with some of the lower aged kids given opportunities to play up, sometimes I have to go and arrange it quickly. Normally Jesús has this all done but of course he has been sick for some time and not able to come to the field, thus I have been entrusted with the team indefinitely. So if I am lacking in Spanish, I had better step it up. Normally I arrange the boys in order of jersey number. I was not told to do this but then again I guess the club can realize, despite language, that I am not some dummy.

Right before the game, the ref lines up the boys in the locker room and calls them out one by one. This is to check their equipment, jersey numbers and names to match the picture on their data sheets. I ran into a slight issue with Sebas since he wears #7 for the cadets and I have Lluc (yook) who also wears the same number. So I put a little tape on Sebas' jersey to turn his 7 into 71, since I also have a 17 on the team. Still I had a little issue with the arrangement of the boy’s player cards. I have now learned that I should put in the starting 11 in the front of the book and then the last 4 subs in the back. Normally we do not do this but it seemed to be a problem with the ref and I had to quickly change it.

Normally, I don't have such issues but one of my players and the captain, Benito, sometimes has a face of frustration when it comes to me. He is a great player. He controls the game and tempo very well and is probably the best ball handler I have ever seen. Still he has a way about his that can only be defined and confident and arrogant. These are not bad traits to have for a footballer as confidence can be the difference between a good player and a mediocre player. But as a coach, you spend way too much time putting him in line rather than coaching or some occasions. When this whole fiasco was happening with the ref, I could look in his face and see he wanted to help but it's frustrating for him and some of the boys to have to deal with a coach they cannot speak with easily. Sure most of the boys understand English as they are required to take it in school for many years. But his face told it all and made me that much more nervous and unfocused. He assisted me with ref but I knew he rather be on the field worming up rather than doing my job.

We had many players who were recovering from injury. Ramon and Lucito were both unable to play this week. Sebastian is still deciding if he wants to play after knee surgery, but we still have some more work for him to do to strengthen his knee and get his mind from worrying so much about it. I called up 5 cadets (lower team) to fill in my ranks but only 4 could make it. This was the first time I would work with 3 of them but I knew they were up for the challenge. Still, my Spanish is lacking so I did not understand the rules for player substitutions so I stayed on the side of caution and only changed 3 players in total, especially when I knew we had the game well in hand. The cool thing is despite being a goal down in the first 10 minutes; my boys were not afraid to keep pressing and quickly broke down the other team's defense and scored within 5 minutes of their goal. From then on it was a blood bath as we quickly ran up the score to be ahead 3-1 right before the break. Christian hurt his leg during a scramble near the top of the box which resulted in him injuring his leg and asked to be substituted out. I had to use my first sub of the game in the first half when I had planned on subbing him in at half time which is a free sub. Drats!!

They had a few threatening moments from their number 11 as I quickly made sure Najim picked up his marking responsibility to keep Christian clear since he was also playing with a sore back. Unfortunately, I put Najim in a difficult position as he picked up a yellow card for a tackle to clear the ball against Nº 11. The ref called the foul in the box but it was clear it was outside, resulting in a penalty for the other side. They converted and we went into the locker rooms 3-2. Still I was not worried.

I did my best in the locker room to commend the boys and keep them up so we can go out and finish this game off. I reminded them of what was needed to be done in the best Spanish I could muster. Funny, even though I brought Christian with me to the locker room to translate, his mother Helen is English, I don't think I needed him once to explain what I was trying to get across. We exited the locker room pumped up and ready to go.


The second half began and I admit and it was all a blur. I was counting my chickens sitting on the bench and had 3 people ready to go in when called. But with 2 subs left I was not sure how to get them all in for some playing time. I felt bad as I knew Albert, the youngest of all the players but still as effective as anyone else, we to suffer at my hands and not get in the game. I apologized to him but with the deficiencies I have in Spanish, I could not fully explain myself. Why do I feel this need to explain to the players? I think mostly because if this was an away game, I could have initiated the last change without fault. But being the home team, I did not have the luxury. Sometime in the second half when I knew I was not able to get this player on, his father came over in a rage and told him to get his things and let's go since his son was not playing. He did not say this directly to me but I caught the jest of it.

I was a bit torn on how I felt about this. One the one side I want to fit into this society. Coaching football, opening my own little shop and having a wife who is from here all helps but does not guarantee me a place in this small town. In order to make my assimilation into this culture smooth, I still have to be fair on the field, work hard in my shop and be nice to those people who I may not know who could be somehow related or good friends with someone that is a part of my wife's former life here. Still I feel like it has been all too easy for me so far. I have only had one bad time with someone here and that had nothing to do with language and more the character of person he was and his trying to take advantage of my business for his sake. That story I can tell you about later.

Still I am trying to sit pretty in our glorious victory last night and look forward to next week's game away against an even poorer team.

Sex education for a 6 year old

The other day, Alex and I were sharing some quality time in front of the TV. To most, I am sure this is not the ideal quality time to be shared between a father and a son, but we had just settled into the house on a cold and rainy day after sharing lunch with his grandparents. For most who do not know, the lunch time meal, especially on a Sunday, is a heavier meal than the others and we were unable to move too much. So sitting in front of the TV to watch a family styled movie was all the energy we could muster.

We were waiting for Carme to get warm and toasty with her pajamas and footsies and gather a blanket or two so we could recreate a homier version of a movie theater. While we waited we flipped a few channels and came across an interesting program on television. The program was about a real family who had an issue or two with the spoiled and assertive family pet. thank god it was not a Great Dane, this little dog, weighing maybe 3 lbs was just a terror. there were many behavior issues, fostered by the mother and daughter, and the father just allowed it to happen. But that was no the most interesting part.

The cut to a clip of the dog humping on a stuffed animal. this clip lasted what seemed like eternity, as Alex's gazing eyes and growing curiosity seemed to focus more intently on this display of sad affection. I cringed in my seat as he did no shy away and I heard new found gears churning away in his head. Now this is the same little boy who can't seem to look at a kissing scene in a movie, much less his own parents kissing in frequent public displays of affection.

Slowly, his head turned to me as his eyes would not leave the screen though his head tried desperately to turn my direction. My heart raced and mind searched for a possible answer to his upcoming possible child like mind's formation of a suitable question. I had no idea where he was going to go and what seemed like another eternity, his lips worked in unison with his mind and throat to squeak out one heart stopping question..."Dad...what is that dog doing?"

Time stopped.

I cleared my dry throat and tried to by time as my usual smart mouthed, quick witted and imaginative mind was blank. wished I was Hiro of the show "Heroes" where I could control time so I could afford the time to browse the internet or peruse the many fatherhood books I have shelved in my office for advice for answering this young mind. I remembered he is like a sponge and anything I say will be soaked up and remembered for most of his life, thus shaping the young man I was hoping to groom into a future gentleman. I took a deep breath and went on toe explain.

"Well Alex , you know when you touch your penis, it feels good sometimes...most times.."
"Uh huh...long pause...Dad, what's a penis?"
" Alex, a penis is the proper name for your "pee-pee"."
"Oh..."
"When you touch your penis, it feels good, well this dog has no ands like you or me so he has to rub his penis on objects...soft objects...so it will feel good to him."
"Oh...long pause...I get it"

Danger averted. The show did not show any more animal pornography while we waited for Carme. And he went on to the next shiny object in the room while waiting for his mother to join us.

The day ended without him asking more questions but I am sure he adventured below the belt line like I know I did when I was his age. Hey, I was an early starter...practice make perfect.

Fast forward to Monday. Alex had joined me in my shop as I worked after school. I was just about to take him to his soccer practice but trying to finish up a project for a customer of mine. I noticed out my store window, an old lady walked up with her two dogs and attached their leashes to the street lamp in front of the cafe she was aiming to go to and enjoy an afternoon coffee, like most in this country take time to do. The two dogs looked puzzled as their owner slowly walked away. Normally the dogs are somehow unaware of the leash restraining them from leaving their intended spot.

The seemingly lder and more mature of the two dogs was white with a few brown spots and weighed all of 15 pounds. The comparatively younger dog was black and resembled a poodle and about 8lbs. The white dog sat intensely looking out for the return of the owner, who was out of sight at this moment while the younger black dog stare at the white dog for what seemingly was direction in what to do now. But after sitting there in their frozen state for about a minute, the more than average wait time for a dog's attention span, the smaller black dog had other ideas. I mistakenly analyzed the intentions of the black dog. What happened next threw me into a tail spin...no pun intended. What I did not hear was the black dog trying to speak som sweet nothings into the ear of the other dog. With no response from the white dog, the black dog when into date rape mode and proceeded to mount the other.

Simple laws of chance versus success odd, the white dog was not having it. The white dog kept her rear end planted firmly on the cold and wet ground. I would assume it was more to his or her liking to have hemorrhoids than to be mounted by it's younger companion. Still I was unsure of the sex of either dog but I guess it is safe to assume the black one was male. The black one, doing only what hormones and nature had stained in his poor little canine mind, could not resist the cold shoulder of his white companion and just went for broke. Poor little thing could only muster enough leverage mount his muzzle on the shoulder of the other dog due to the leash being situated a certain way. You know how dogs like to tangle themselves in their leashes.

This sad attempt only reminded me of my younger years as I have tried to mount many before with only successfully losing more self dignity with my unpolished words and clumsy,nervous hands. Still I am a proponent to Darwin's ideas of survival of the fittest and was not about to go over and help the poor sap mate in anyway. All the while I waited for Alex to get bored with his shiny object and turn his head enough to catch a glimpse of the rerun from the day before but now in live action! I felt trapped as God was forcing my hand to make sure I had to deal with this with my son. Time was ticking away and the black dog was bound by duty to get that booty.

I thought there was a break in the action and I could get Alex out of the shop, past the hairy lovers and into the car like a rock star leaving his concert in a hurry, but alas I was wrong. I had just waited for the most opportune time to mention to Alex it was time to go. So as I mentioned this, Alex sprung to his feet and whirled on his coat and grabbed his bag containing all of this soccer equipment. As he turned and turned thinking it would assist him in trying to put this bag which outweighs him by a good 5 lbs, his eyes caught the peculiar happening only 20 40 ft away from him. He slowly stopped what he was doing and cock his head to one side, almost trying to see if he was imagining what he thought he was seeing. His face became flush and his arms went limp. Mind numbness overcame the poor sap. In the background you could see my head drop to my hands and I shook it slowly side to side asking, "Why me?".

Still I was not to be held captive in my shop by one love sick puppy. It did become more comical as I noticed the white dog was now o all fours and convently dropping his hind legs to sit as soon as the black dog thought the white dog was "coming around". The white dog dig not bark, snip or act counter aggressively towards the feeble attempts of the black dog. Just took it in stride like this was a normal occurence. I had to push the low jawed Alex closer to the car, which they happened to be trying to blocking with their spectacular show. I waited for Alex to ask me what they were doing so I could reply in a cynical manner..."this is called marriage. where the male tries and the female denies." but I figured that would do WAY more harm than good despite my flash of comical brilliance.

Alex could not turn his eyes away from the sight. And for a 6 year old, I can understand why. Daddy is the same way except my vision is usually focused on a similar event downloaded from the internet and involves silicone and far less quality acting. As we made it in the car, Alex still fixed on the young canine couple trying to negotiate a peaceful settlement to this debacle, he confidently said to me, exhibiting his empathy and care for animals since he declared he did not want to eat animals anymore until he found out no more hot dogs and chicken nuggets ever in his life, "poor doggie...if only he had hands, he would not need the other dog." He is well on his way to marriage.

The end.

Halloween...Tossa style

Another thing I miss...Halloween in the states. The people of Tossa have been celebrating Halloween for about 3 years now. I am not sure where this holiday came from but I suspect many years of seeing American movies as well as the influx of UK citizens who have relocated to this warmer part of Europe had something to do with the influence on this town. I cannot say much about neighboring towns, but tossa is starting to get the hang of it and it is up to me to push them over the edge.

I spent the whole month of October looking for pumpkins. It is safe to say that pumpkins are not a staple crop here in Spain. I could find small decorative ones but they did not nearly have the size to put an intricate carving despite only being able to put a tea light in the inside meaning no real light coming thru. Oh how I miss searching pumpkin patches for the biggest and roundest pumpkin so I could dream up a horrific or detailed carving into the face. I guess no pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving meal this year...sigh. It's ok, I prefer sweet potato.

In America, we look forward all week to either preparing our costume or buying one for our little ones. Half of the kick is fiding out which character is most popular with the kids. When I was a kid, there were many Luke Skywalkers and Chewbaccas roaming the south side of Richmond along with your safe bets of Superman or Spider-man. I don't know about you but the Hulk just never came off well since most wearing the costume were all of 6 years old and the body frame to go with their age. Not being stateside, am at a lost for which characters will venture down to my dark end of the street to venture in the darkness thru our cul-de-sac with owls hooting and who knows what kind of insect or snake lurked in the front easement.

I do miss the neighbors a street up and around the corner who always had a frightful display in the front yard. With garage open, there was a scene of some masked villain with a fake chainsaw and fake blood all over the concrete (I hope they sealed that driveway properly). all the while, outdoor speakers blared horrify moans and screams from hidden locations around the house. Coffins and tombstones decorated the front law. I, to this day, still feel odd about walking across a grave, out of respect for the dead, so it's a good way to keep the like minded off his grass.

Normally, when I was a child, we started trick or treating when the darkness fell. It added to the fear factor of All Hallow's eve. Carme and I traded off years where we would walk with our little terrified of the dark Alex while the other stayed home to pass out candy. Alex loves me, I am sure, but on this day, when it was my turn to take him out, he was not my friend as I pushed him to walk to each scary and dark house to retrieve the candy he knew I was going to limit him from eating come Nov. 1. He was tired as my role in slave driver wore on with each footstep, becoming more and more intense. I guess I was fulfilling my childhood.

Still I noticed Halloween was changing, not just because I was getting older and no long could fit in my Teenage Ninja Turtle outfit...well maybe a little...but I noticed that we were becoming a little smarter as adults than our parents before. With America waiting until the weekend after Halloween to roll back clocks an hour, children and parents could now come home from school and head out in costume before nightfall settled. This in effect could help prevent some of the accidents people were having driving their neighborhoods avoiding frantic trick or treaters. Well we hope. I remember how odd it was to see the movie E.T. and the Halloween scene where the sun had not even got close to setting and the residents went out for sweets and goodies.

If you had been paying attention to the culture here in Tossa, most parents work until 8pm at night and we have already rolled back our clocks a week ago. Side note, when we roll our clocks forward, the sun doesn't set until near 9:30 at the height of the summer. I love that! but nightfall comes early for us in the winter months and I am turning on the lights to my store sign near 6pm. It had been raining all week and torrential downpours threatened my first full year leading up to Halloween. We suffer form some pretty harsh wind storms usually during the night bu for the past two days, we had been experiencing the wind and the rain. I was bummed but not to be destroyed.

Still I had begun my Halloween atmosphere in my store by picking up the few decorations Carme could find on a shopping day a few town down where they have more items and selection for sale. What is missing are the boxes and boxes of display of different costumes set up where most seasonal things are displayed in the local retail shops. I dusted off my collection of Halloween sounds and music and set them to play on 3 computers simultaneously. The layered effect of random screams and echoes filled my shop. Passer byers turned their head noticing the eerie sounds oozing from my door. As night fell, the rain ceased and I added a bit more of atmosphere to the shop by cutting off the lights and lighting candles. The local kids that I do know all poked their heads in and enjoyed the limited atmosphere I was working with. I did not anticipate customers but one guy stopped by right before closing at 8pm with a 2 second fix for him computer. I laughed as he wondered if I was still open as he clearly did not get the spooky effect I was going for. who could blame him.

So at 8:08pm I closed my shop for the night. Having a few kids in home made costumes to visit me in my shop and enjoy my limited selection of candy and the horrifying sounds coming from 3 different directions with an echo effect added to them. One child, dressed as a witch, was not sure where the sounds were coming from and asked if I had a monster in my bathroom hiding out. I walked home, only to encounter one small child in costume with her mother. Seems like witches are popular if not for lack of retail costumes of cartoon characters and the universal understanding what a witch is. I dreamed of how to make my mark on this town and bring a little of me and my culture. I talked to Andrea, who runs a local murder dinner theater for the tourists and we spoke of renting out a house and making it a haunted feature in the month of October and maybe year round. I think it would go nicely with her mystery theater since she emplys many actors and models for her other businesses. maybe we can incorporate maybe some ghostly pirates who visited the area with our ruined castle do draw more tourists. Still it is in the thought stage. If I have anything I have my imagination.

So I am not Black anymore...

I always say you are not who you think you are but what people think of you. If you are tall you don't know you are tall until short people decide to let you know every chance they get. If people are prejudice towards a group of people, they are going to treat them as if they would normally trat other members of that group. Growing up in the the south I had my fair reminders of some of the things my family went thru when I say America was going thru it's violent puberty years. Attending Jefferson David Middle school, passing Stonewall Jackson's monument on daily walks to classes, having my city divided over a monument on the same street as Stonewall Jackson of a man who beat the race barrier...sigh.

Having these experiences have shaped and molded me to be who am I. Coupled with the sentiments passed down from generation to generation within my family, having the outward influences from non Black America passed down from generation to generation, having the media and television shape my mind. where is this all going? well I have a mindset of who I am...in American Culture but in Spanish culture I got turned aroun a bit.

I have some advantages here in Tossa. Being that my wife grew up here and my inlaws are pretty well know by association. Being a coach on the soccer team and opening my own business gives me a bit of personal clout in this town that you cannot buy. So when i first got here, I was weary of racism. I was not sure how I would be received overall. sure the local Spaniard has seen many American movies and know who Denzel Washington is. But there is a lacking in the cultural history that just can't be taught in school. I am not sure what they teach in the schools here but it seems like they are more preoccupied with teach Catholic beliefs so where would they have time to teach racism in a society that was so closed off that i am sure they considered tourists to be foreign invaders of some sort. Still I am learning how this country is accepting me.

For the most part, the reception and my perception has been mixed. I admit my perception has been the more negative of the two. i blame this on having my 36 years of life experienced initially shaped in America to go on and applying to a new surrounding. But i think all in all, i have been received pretty well. still my language and communication skills are lacking in Spanish so therefore many people have only just physical language to get to know me. I seem to not draw stares or anything like that...but I know, maybe when my back is turned.

When I see a Black person, I go nuts. It's like those National Geographic where one tiger sees another and is alert to that tiger encroaching on their territory. Well I am not marking my scent to warn off other people of color...but I just long for a bit of my sub culture that I cannot get here. i don't think they have a copy of Friday (Ice Cube, Chris Tucker, etc) in the local video stores.

When I say a person of color I mean just that. We still come in all shade around the world. But I am much more apt to run into an African then I am an African American. But i do notice a bit of resistance to the Africans here in Spain. Like all around the world, there are instances where one poorer country seems to export their population on a much richer nation. The US has the immigration of many Mexicans and Latin Americans. Germany has an ever growing number of Turks. Spain, also, has an growing number of Africans and Moroccans coming to make a living here. I don't fit the ctegory of African to most Spaniard I talk to. By the time I can talk to them, they only see me as one of the few Americans who live here and the small amount who spend vacations here. they seem to know more about their French, Italian and English visitors and have general characterizations about each group. I m almost saddened i am not included in the African population. The Africans, at first, looked at me with some curiosity but when they see me eating a ham sandwich, they knew I was not Muslim.!

During soccer practice, we generally begin with what we call "rondo". basically this is keep away or monkey in the middle. We form a circle and depending on the number on the outside, dictates how many monkeys are in the middle chasing the ball down waiting and pouncing on opportunities to win the ball. The fellas on the outside do their best to trick and fool and sometimes make fools of the boys in the middle with fast footwork and trickery. The rules are simple...just don't be the one on the outside making a bad pass and getting their pass intercepted by someone in the middle running aimlessly...or seemingly running aimlessly if you pass the ball rapidly and well.

During these pre-warm ups, we tend to relax, laugh and have conversation. One such day, somehow we all got on the conversation of my color. No, I was not sick or sad...but what we normally refer to as race. Where in America, we are focused on race and nationality, I would say for me, I think we are more focused on race since America holds so many different types of people from many and multi ethnic backgrounds. Sure at one time in American history, you could tell the nationality and sometimes their religious views based on a last name. Where as today I get more job interviews with my name than if it were Rasheed Jenkins (my cousin better known as Ray Ray who is on his soon to be 3rd strike for food stamp violations...he learned how to use Photoshop).


So while having our conversations time during practice, not knowing how we got on the subject, there was a little conversation about how I was not Black. Still the word Black to them, seemingly is just a color in the crayola box or to loosely describe the African who are mush darker than I. Thy began to try to argue with me that I was not Black but still did not offer a better description. There was no referendum on what I was but they were sure I was not Black. Some locals have asked if both my parents were Black. I had to realize then what exactly they meant by asking that. To me, y parents are Black, by American standards. Barack Obama had a Black parent and a White parent and he has the looks of what would be considered Black in America and is being marketed as the first Black who could possibly win the presidency. Halle Berry is in the same boat and was the first black female to win an Oscar in a leading role. The list goes on.

Still the discussion moved away from that subject but i was left with that burning thought. How do people see me here. And how they treat me...is that a perception of what I am. it struck me to think they did no see me as what I was brought up to be all my life. Dealing with struggles inflicting a Black male in America where, statistically, we were more apt to be in jail than not, it's hard for me to accept where Ii am, metaphorically.
Should I feel shamefull for being accepted into the local society without prejudice while the Africans here, who come and work hard in low paying and mediocre jobs, stare at me in some sort of apprehension. I have met a few Africans and gotten to know them well enough to have casual conversations but only one to have an in depth conversation about how he feels treated, or mistreated, in this country. i am left perplexed and challenged even after a year.

my Olympics wrap up...

This is the first time I have spent in another country, seeing the Olympics thru another media's eyes. As Americans, we are characterized as having an untouchable national pride. Sure we have out internal conflicts, as long as there are two humans on Earth, there will be conflict. But when our nation competes against other nations, we become rabid animals and pool together as one nation. This is one reason why I can't understand how we cannot appreciate soccer. the sport itself is much like war. The fans lay their hopes and dream of bragging rights in the hands of a coach and 11 players to right the wrongs of yesteryear. we as americans can relate to this. How? Well are we still talking about the Winter Olympics where we beat Russia in the semifinals? Do you think the Russians are still crying over one lost? Still the game holds much importance as this was , albeit then end, cold war era. Instead of bombs and missiles, we went to war over ice and pucks. Brutal as hockey may be, better choice of conflict than global thermonuclear war.

So the Olympics as the poster child for global conflict in a sanctioned manner. No need for the Geneva Convention or NATA peace keepers when we have the Olympics ruling committee to monitor the rules and regulations set for years before. Like war, the soldiers to compete train for life times, to be placed in a position to win glory for their countries. All the while, the hosting city is transforming into the city they should have been, but are now motivated to make those changes to polish their image for every tourist, media personnel, and visiting world leader in hopes to show their brilliance. China, long hounded by their politics, human rights record and place on the world stage, showed up and delivered a spectacular opening and closing games. But jut like any Olympics, the games were blemished by the random acts of individuals who are not on the same page and use the games as a way to be heard. i am sure more stories will surface but hopefully we can see the positive in the games as a whole. That would be the biggest defeat for the naysayers.

Still i would like to point out some of my finer memories from this years Olympics. I would like to share my American point of view while under Spanish media influence. for those of you not convinced that the media has some influence on how you think...take it from me. It's brainwash.

1.The Spanish Basketball team. talk about the biggest whiners in the world. i am not sure if you guys are getting this, but they have been crying ever since the final buzzer. I will give it to them, they played some kick ass basketball against the Americans in the gold medal game. I was nervous as I woke up in time to catch the second half of the game. I, being a long time fan of basketball, have a sense for the game and it's strategy. Which makes my enjoying the game that much more difficult to sit back and enjoy. Still I thought the officiating was less than par. Fouls not called on loose balls, illegal and moving picks were ignored and some offensive fouls called in error. But in the end the Americans prevailed. But to my surprise, the Spanish media was carrying a story about how critical the Spanish players were against the referees. they felt they could have won the game if the refs were calling traveling violations like they thought they should have. Carme was wondering out loud what was the rule on traveling. Still she was jut thinking out loud because she has the attention span of a gerbil when it comes to me explain anything about sport, computers or world politics. The problem ultimately was that the American's got way too lax and let the Spaniard think they were good enough to beat the Americas, thus they had to look for an excuse as to why they lost by a handful of points rather than the 30 pts. they lost by in group play! Babies!!! take the silver and call it a day. Remember 2nd place is the 1st place loser!!!

2.Australian women's basketball team. Ok I have something to admit and it ain't going to be pretty. I am not a fan of female sports. I can't get into gymnast because they look like little 12 year old girls (China used that to try to slip a possible 12 year old into the competition and she won the gold! I know, head my own advice and stop whining right?). synchronized swimming just freaks me out with all the waterproof mascara they use and their hair all pulled back. Long distance running can get into but it can be a bore to see a woman doing the same thing over and over again, left then right. their clothing is not see thru so when they dump bottles of water over their heads, there are no wet t-shirt moments. Sigh. I do get a kick out of the sprinters. Thick legs and rear ends run amock. but the race is over in 9 seconds and then what? I need something a bit long lasting to capture my male mind and the need to look at women despite being happily married.

o i flashed over to check out the women's side of the basketball tournament. I happened to run across the Australian women's basketball team game and i was floored! Ok if you scroll a bit you will see what i mean. normally, the women's side of thing took their queues from the men side of fashin. thank goodness women's professional basketball was not wearing the tight and high shorts of the 70's and waited for at least the late 80's to pick up on the longer and baggier shorts. Still the only redeeming factor is the occasional pretty face. the uniform being unflattering and often hiding of assets of the shapely female figure, just made me think i was looking at men with mullets and pony tails. their rough exterior seemed in direct proportion with their basketball skills. the better the player, the less likely you will find them in high heels and a skirt. But how fair is it for me to have my cake and eat it , too.


Then came the Aussies! Their uniform being a reminder of more like a wet suit than some oversized pajamas. Oh sweet heaven...when are the next international competitions?!?

3.Michael Phelps. Someone check his DNA for fish genes! someone check his blood not for doping but fish oil!!! Still, 8 events, 8 gold medals, 7 world records....something to reach for in 4 years Mikey!

4.Usain Bolt. It is uncanny how this man has the same name as what we use to describe units of measurement for lightning. i swear i thought he was going to break stride and run backwards the last half of the race when he let up and still broke the world record.

11 months later...what do I miss

I was asked before I left the states, what I thought I would miss from America. I firmly answered the smell of cut grass. Spending many years of my life enjoying the summers of North Carolina, the smell of cut summer grass is one of those things that when I smell it, I am taken back to a time of innocence and life exploration. I count this as one of my luckiest joys in life as it is miserable for others suffering from allergies and sneezing attacks. In Tossa, there maybe be 100 blades of grass at one time in one clump so I do not get the lingering grass when it is cut. The city ground crew tasked with keeping the many plots of grass well trimmed think I am stalking them as I seem to sit and stare while they toil in the Mediterranean sun. I think back on cutting the grass at my own house(when Carme allowed me to for I think she enjoyed the smell herself but she would never admit it). the work in the summer heat seem to intensify when you are pushing that mower up a hill and down. Sweet mercy, it was worth every moment of my life.

Still I thought I would compile a list of some of the things I am missing from the good ole US of A and share them with each and everyone one of my 3 regular readers.

1.Fireflies. I don't know if it is living in Spain or living near the beach but there is not one stinking firefly in this country that i have seen. I was so looking forward to speaking a little catalan with the local lightning bugs but there s not one here. sigh.

2.Coldstone. Oh how ingenious to take slabs of heavenly flavored ice dreams and mix them with all the candy one could possibly fit into a 20oz cup as long as you obeyed the rules of physics. Maybe that's why i am wondering if i am diabetic...hmmmm,

3.Ukrops. well not just Ukrops. Right now any crappy grocery store will do. You see here, they do not bag your groceries, you are on your own. Crush your bread before you get home, your bad. Also you have to pay to use a shopping cart. I think I mentioned that before but it's a harsh fact of life that makes life a little uncomfortable here. it's like those carts you rent for a dollar in large malls. And you can do all this for 50 cents or a Euro. I find this hilarious when I buy more food that I can comfortably carry back to the apartment and push the cart all the way home. i look like kind of ridiculous but hey, it's too far to carry and risk cutting off the circulation in my fingertips and too close to drive. As I am pushing this independent 4 wheel drive monster and fight to keep it on course, I think, they think this cart is only worth 50 cents. i should steal a bunch of them and resell them to some black market for like 2 Euros.

I am sure to add more to the list later but this is just for now.

what if God was one of us

I have never paid much attention to this song. Joan Osborne’s version or Prince's weird remake. That's right; I said Prince did something weird! But it has never been running thru my head and I will tell you why.

There is this gentleman who lives here in Tossa. Let's paint a picture for you since I thought it would be rude to flash photograph him. But first, can anyone tell me the natural state of hair if you never touched it with your fruit infused shampoos or a large toothed comb? Well it goes into dreadlocks. I am not talking about the Bob Marley well thought out and planned one. I am talking, and depending on your disposition, the creature from the movie Predator type "dreds".

Well this gentleman, the day I first laid wondering eyes upon, was wearing no shirt, interesting running shorts, sporting a head full of these dreadlocks (the aformentioned type above), I think also sneakers, headphones and a gold cross around his neck and he was jogging past me thru the center of town. Something was quite odd about him. Could it have been his running shorts? Let's see if I describe them. ummmm...well....you know the kind of full panties that women now wear? They look kind of boyish and they cover like 90% of the ass. Well his running shorts were like that...tight and hugging his pubic area. I think they were psychedelic colored, I am not sure. Maybe I was awestruck in his lack of dress as well as his choice of dress. I did notice the gold cross around his neck, which unlike the size of a Flava Flave's clocks around his neck, was quite petite in size but he was only a few feet away from me so it caught my eye. He had stopped his run to cross a street, still jogging in place, silently negotiating with the upcoming driver who was about to run him over. Hmmmm...A sign of intelligence if his appearance did not precede that notion. Quite odd in stature and first glance, but still looking somewhat fit, I noticed he turned a few of the locals heads. He is a tall and lean white male with brownish red matted hair. Not looking malnourished and obviously having enough energy to go for a run, still his overall appearance struck me as out of place. Could it have been the grizzly Adams beard, which was neither trimmed or cut like he was well manicured, which added to his homeless look from the neck up. Still how many homeless people do you see jogging around Byrd park? Either it was his first major appearance in this mid afternoon late summer day or was a rare appearance by a local celebrity. But he definitely stood out like a nun in a whore house.

Still I do not think I have done justice to describing this guy. Outside of his matted hair and overgrown beard, he did not look homeless. Now I would use the word homeless not to insult him, but more of a visual we Americans have when generalizing the unfortunate group of people we run across in our daily, big city lives. A generalization of a group of diverse people we know to be possible alcoholics, drug addicts, mentally off balanced, emotionally disturbed or just plain out unlucky in life people who live in the alleys, streets, public parks and under bridges. I do not want to assume he is homeless in the least bit but paint a visual of this character that words can’t seem to do justice over.

At my first sight of him, I had no indication that he was an "un-neat" person other than the over grown beard and matted hair. Still I have never watched the full transformation of someone trying to transform their hair into dread locks. Well maybe one but that was over the course of one semester watching Steve Fountain in French class twisting his own hair between his thumb and forefinger ever 2.3 seconds which I assumed was out of boredom more than cosmetic preparations. Back to the gentleman at hand, I would say he looked more “wild” and natural than homeless. Still, being a small community, this gentleman surely stuck out like a sore thumb and caught my attention.

As quickly as he came, he jogged off into the semi crowded street, clapping his hands and raising his arms in what looked like him being really into his workout and music in his headphones. I was left dumbfounded. Left with my jaw wide open and internally wondering, WHAT WAS THAT! I did not dare ask the locals if they had seen what I saw but I noticed on the locals faces, that this was a rare and interesting treat. Something to look forward to, eh?

Time passes...and by the luck of the north wind, there were several sighting in my 11 months here. Most without incident. They progressed in excitement for me as I slowly began making friends and having more conversations about our mystery friend seen strolling thru town. I could only piece together a jagged story, which I was aware was mostly rumor and guessing, that one day this guy showed up in Tossa with a Vespa but the cops took it away (for some unknown reason. Maybe they told me but I did not understand the Spanish when they told me), that they think he lived in the woods or something since no one knew where he lives (and I say again...Tossa is small!! So you kind of by chance find out where people live) and that he is probably rich since he has no job, nowhere in those little shorts to carry an ATM card and well, there are no other supporting facts.

Each sighting seems to grow stranger and stranger and fueling my curiosity in just who is this character is. No one seems threatened by him. Children do not follow him and mock him causing him to bite his tongue and storm off in frustration. I do not see people treating him differently, only stares and silent whispers. And when a tourist went missing (and I know this sounds extreme and something out of a movie but...) and her body was found 5 days later, I was relieved to see that there was no witch hunt for this stranger for "questioning". I hope one understands that last line. Still my first social contact with this person was an odd event.

Carme and I had the night off from parenting and decided to have a drink before dinner. We were seated at Comics Café when, like a ninja, this strange fellow walked up. He was walking along the sidewalk which, if you can imagine, contains a number of tables with seats under an awning projecting from the bar. When people walk down the broad sidewalk on this main street, they pass the island of tables street side and cafe side. Eric, the owner, has to be careful when crossing human traffic cafe side when he is serving a tray full of drinks. Well we were sitting near the stream of human traffic nearest the cafe's front door and that bottle neck can cause you to slow down just a bit when walking thru to recognize your long lost mother is sitting in the island of tables next to where you are walking thru. Well this gentleman was funneled thru this traffic. Shirt in hand, wraparound sunshade perched atop his sun kissed forehead, fanny pack around his waist(possibly containing that elusive ATM card to access his presumed millions) and extra tight shorts...for comfort and support I supposes. Carme did not see him but I gave a silent type of "we have been married for almost 10 years" signal to warn her that something interesting was nearby for her to casually glance around to. I did not warn her in time enough for me to turn my eyes from the target and her to casually turn her eyes toward the target (so it did not seem like we were talking about him) before he was upon us. He was 2 feet from us, close enough to a person that they begin the process of acknowledge your existence in casual passing. And in one split second, our existence, Carme and mine, came clear to him in one breath, he locked on us and stopped dead in his tracks. All I could do was draw back as I was surprised at the cat like agility this man possessed from stopping on a dime from almost and Olympic style walking marathon pace! This is what he did:
1.he put his finger in front of his mouth as to silently say shush your mouth or don’t speak, then closed his eyes and shook his head from side to side, silently saying "no".
2.tapped the arm of Carme's chair nearest to him (Carme almost jumped out of her underwear at his bold and swift transition from one mime event to another) and waved his finger signifying another no-no.
3.took his cross of Jesus between his thumb and forefinger that was hanging from his neck and with the hand that was free and gave a thumbs up sign.

And again, as quickly as he came, he left, breaking out in full stride again and getting lost in the crowded sidewalk.

Carme and I sat dumbfounded for a second. Then we stared at each other as to say "what the f---". Then, with mouths open, looked around to see if anyone was staring at us in amazement as we seemed to be one of the first of the locals to have made contact with this stranger. But no one was paying much attention to us at the time. Then our eyes met each other again as to silently say "did we just dream this?” Then we broke out in laughter. Carme and I have never lacked in conversation, but we put all important business on hold to decipher this stranger's message to us. Is he a man of divine wisdom? A nut? You decide. Our first contact with this odd fellow yielded more questions and more myths to pass on to our grandchildren.

I have seen him walking down streets on other occasions, walking with a purpose and speed. Like he was going to a meeting or something. But there are no meetings here in Tossa. And he always is less than pristine. This adds to the myth of his living in the woods. Not that is making fun of this guy but he does not have a vast amount of wardrobe to show off and usually his clothes are well worn and untidy. There is always some combination of the aforementioned shorts, a button down shirt, a few t-shirts and some shorts. Of course, with his uncut and tangled looking hair and Robinson Caruso growth of a beard, well it does not add to the mythology of this character. I have seen him, sitting in peace at the cafe next to my shop, in the afternoon sun, with a pad of paper and some water colors and a small Styrofoam cup. Now let me just add that I have just realized I have not seen one Styrofoam cup in the country which seems to be very big ongoing "green" (see future blog ongoing green in Spain"). I casually passed this gentleman sitting and smiling and laughing under his breath after each stroke. Seemingly he was amused with each way his painting transformed with each new color. A sign of artistic brilliance or madness?

Who was this odd character and where was he from? What is his story? I was destined to find out. One especially hot day, after coming back from lunch break, I found this strange character sitting in the outside seating at the next door cafe, Cafe Ramblas. I knew Yoli and Mari Jose always close thier cafe for siesta and do not open until 4ish. It was not 3:30.

I had a good view from the street corner and I slowly coasted with my bike toward my shop, studying this character as he sat, with his button down wide open, looking left and right, like he was waiting for the bus or something. I figured this was a great time to try to talk to him. Maybe he is confused or just resting. Still this was market day, well earlier that morning. The market runs from early morning to 1pm and then the street cleaners come in to clean up all the trash left by the vendors around 3pm. The market is like a traveling flea market with clothes, trinkets, local candies...you name it. And they clear the street of tourist and locals parking there so the vendors can pull in their trucks. So imagine the street being completely clear and not open for traffic until the street cleaners were done. So at best, I had the local trash men in some close proximity in case this guy goes for my jugular!

So, as I usually do, I mentally practice my Spanish in what I am going to say to him with only 10 steps to go. As I am going thru and conjugated every possibility in my unusually large head, I realize maybe he is here waiting for me. Maybe to rob my silly ass and here I am...the fly walking right into the spider's web. So I spoke in Spanish and it goes a little something like this:


***in Spanish***
me: Hey, how are you. What’s up?
Him: (a bit confused and stuttering) ummm...hi
me: are you ok, needing anything?
Him: ummmm...no...I was just...well...ummm resting
me: so you are waiting for Yoli to open up?
Him: uuummmm ...well I was ...I am not that good with Spanish, I only....ummmm....know a little bit.
Me: so what is the language you prefer to speak?

And I wait for eternity thinking how ridiculous was that question. I only speak English and a little Spanish. He might come back with some remote Thailand rural language or dialect. I could be lucky and he might say pig latin but I doubt that. But things get interesting really quickly as he leaves me hanging. I am not sure if he is ignoring me or distracted by something else but he is visibly in more than one place at a time. Now my concerns for him go from worry about him being dangerous to me and possibly he might be suffering from dehydration or worse case scenario, some form of mental illness. I am not sure how to say it but my first impressions have been that he was a gentle soul but maybe a little odd and eccentric. Just then, he lifted his head and looked at me with one eye closed like he was going to try something out on me when he opened him mouth and said to me with the clearest and most elegant British accent..."English".

I AM FLOORED!!!! He is from freaking Wales and is as intelligent as you or I. Now let me explain why I am so floored. Admit it or not, in America, with most of our impressions of other cultures and people are shaped thru TV and movies, when I hear a British accent I think of James Bond or John Cleese and Monty Python. I think either refined or elegant to silly and drunk. I think of someone being really smart and Oxford educated or someone really drunk and slurring. I know the visions ranged but all of a sudden, this man with his tattered outside seemed like the most brilliant man in the world. I was relieved that I could actually communicate with him and get to know him. Like divine fate was at hand.

So he told me a little bit about himself. His name is Daniel and he is from Wales and had been here for about a year. He confided in me that he did spend some time in psychiatric holding (assuming against his wishes by his tone when he spoke of it) but figured if he focused and read the word of God and lived out of his element for at least a year, it could heal and re-center him. He did not use the words heal and re-center...I have this annoying habit of finishing Carme's sentences when she cannot think of the word in English and to show her that I am actually listening to her. But with his occasional breaks in speech and losing focus when looking around, I kind of helped myself to finishing his thoughts.

So I named this blog after that really popular tune because i had a thought. Just hear me out if you will. What if God was one of us? What if God walked the Earth again? Would He be in one form or many? If in many forms, would He be part of the flow of normality or stand out to test His creations and their reactions? Who are we to judge this man? How would we treat Him if we knew He was wearing tight shorts, headphones and staying in shape?

All in all I feel pretty good about introducing myself to Daniel. I think he could use a friend. My plan is to see if I can find him again and learn more about him. See where he came from and where is he going before he moves on to another location, if he hasn't already. Here's to you Daniel, brave soul indeed.

signs of getting old and not taking care of myself...

ok it's time for the blood results! I was all prepared to go to the doctor alone, and it seemed one by one, Alex wanted to go and help me translate, then Carme got out of work to meet me there also. I know I have to speak the language but I am not sure if my doctor can even speak Spanish. every time I have seen her, it's been in the most rapid Catalan I have ever heard (yet never understood).

Side note: as I have said a million times, Tossa is very small. so we end up doing two or three jobs to keep the small town running. My job is local computer tech and soccer coach. And that goes for my doctor, Imma. She is not only a doctor, but she is the town mayor. I am not sure how long her term is and how she is elected, but she is a very sweet and gentle person, despite not understanding her words. But I noticed her name, and not to make fun of this woman who I admire, but for my American friends, I just love this name...

Immaculada Colom Canal.

Ok so I go in with my whole family for Imma to go over the test results of my blood work. as I already knew, with my cholesterol, I have too much of the bad and not enough of the good type. Signs of liver issues. But the part that really got me off kilter was the blood sugar test. Seems my body does not know what to do with my incredible sweetness. Oh sweet pancreas, don't fail me now. Imma asked if anyone in my family had diabetes, and I sat and thought on it. I actually did not know. I know my mother does not and my brother, but as for my biological father, I could care less. But it saddened me that I realize how little this man has given to me while possibly giving me way too much! I did remember that when I was younger and he and I WERE speaking, his father had died after complications but in the last few years of his life, if I remember correctly, he had his legs amputated due to complications with diabetes.

So I answered Imma, with an uncertain "no" and she just took it with a grain of salt. Well the good thing is that I don't have hepatitis or some other blood borne disease. I think that might be a bit difficult to explain to Carme! Still I was a little rocked by the diabetes. I mean yeah it could have been worse, but still I was a little worried. So Imma has scheduled me next week for another test involving me drinking this highly potent sugary mix and waiting around for 2 hours to take more blood. I will be bringing lots of comic books to say the least.

So I got home that night, still under a bit of the weather, dealing with the fact that I am getting older and still eating like a teenager. I spent the afternoon thinking about this impending diet Imma wants me to be on. No more pizza. Just vegetables and bean spouts...ugh! I called my mom to let her know what was going on and found out that out of my mother’s 11 siblings, all but 3 have diabetes. I was blown away. Also, she laid more family news on me as one of my younger aunts, I think she is 50, had been dealing with a failing kidney the past two weeks, and just had a heart attack while in the hospital. Things are not looking good for my aunt Alice. Still it puts my possible diagnosis in perspective. No matter how bad you have it, someone has life a little bit rougher. It would be selfish of me to sulk or turn inward. And instead, anything thrown at me can be handled because I have a little man who is depending on me. This is not curable but it is manageable. Who knows, maybe carrot sticks will not be too bad in the end.
I love you aunt Ree.

STRESSED OUT!!!

So something strange has happened to me in my time here in Spain. It started a month ago but I was not too worried about it. Still Carme was concerned, as she is with me, she loves to fuss over me and I love it. Still it alarmed her enough to want me to see a doctor.

A few weeks ago she noticed a patch of hair missing from my head. Located just behind my right ear, a place where I usually don't inspect, there was a noticeable patch of hair missing, bigger then a silver dollar, smaller than a pancake! Normally I keep my head shaved as bald as I can with electric clippers. A far cry from my high school days where I sported a high top fade like Kid from Kid 'n Play. So this patch of hair never seemed to recover from whatever is making it die off. It did not itch or turn red. But I had waited long enough and decided to go see what the doctor had to say. The doctor seemed confident enough when she saw it, to initially diagnose it as a classic occurrence of stress. Still she set me up for a blood test to make sure. What she is actually looking for in my blood, I am not sure. But she said she had seen it more often than one might think. I mean, what could I possibly be stressed out so much about that could make me lose my hair? Not only am I trying to maintain my normal life in an abnormal place, I am trying to speak another language after never truly mastering my mother language (evident in my spelling and proofing of my past blogs), trying to start a business and feed my family with minimal help from my in laws, trying to raise a son, maintain a marriage, get in shape, coach a team, etc. all normal things in life (denote the sarcasm).

Still next Wednesday I have another appointment to get the results of my blood test. I am sure I am quite healthy but one never knows...

riding the mechanical horse...

Just a quick story that made me laugh...

You all know I have never ridden a motorcycle but I have dreamed of getting up the guts to own ride one. Something about the open road, wind in my scalp and bugs in my teeth makes my skin shiver with excitement. Still I have not gotten up the nerve to oppose the wishes of my wife and mother. I am such a good boy.

The next best thing to a roaring Harley or Japanese made crotch rocket is a moped. Now I know you might have images of some noisy, slow moving rusted step up from a mountain bike. Actually you can't call it a step up since the moped looks like it might fall apart if you hit a speed bump too fast. And here in Tossa you will find a wide range of moped, called "motos". Some range from the new, sleek and powerful to the old and falling apart if not held together with a fresh coat of paint each year. Still, motos are somewhat preferred mode of rapid transportation within Tossa. Our population swells and contracts each day like an accordion as buses bring in more vacationers from as far as Sweden. Also the weekender from Barcelona will come and spend some much needed stress less time away from the big city and come to stress us out by overtaking all of the parking spaces. If not for emergencies or the occasional excursion, we won't move our car after Thursday so we can actually have a parking space within eye's view of our apartment windows.

The motos is such an integral part of daily life and transportation here. With the prices of gas far exceeding that of America (despite you guys catching up rather quickly), the moto is easier on the wallets than a full sized car. Sure if you need to carry more than two full grown people, walking or by car is the only option. There is public transportation but the only subway in Tossa is for the moles. And if I need to go to Barcelona alone, I go by train, which the nearest station is in Blanes (pronounced Bla - nes), two towns down the coast.

The road connecting Tossa to the nearest town, Lloret (pronounced Your-et not Lor-et) is a long and winding road frequented by daring motorcyclist on the weekend darting between cars and daring one another to cause an accident. Another reason to leave your car parked on the weekends as they have taken over the windy roads. By moto, since they do not have the extreme and fluid power of motorcycles, it´s a bit trying to get up and down the hills of this winding road. It's especially hilarious to see someone trying to attempt this feat in the winter time, braving the cold and harsh winds sweeping thru the hills and valleys while bundled in a bubble goose jacket and icicles gangling from their ears and chin. Still things have to be done, and motos are just a staple of life here.

The age range of moto riders can be as young as, and don't quote me, 12 years old or such to 113 years old. Every child here seems to have a moto, as it seems to be a rite of passage for the teenagers. They go to school and joy ride in them. A blind man knows it is lunch time and the end of the school day in the only high school here when the roars of bee like motors rev and disperse throughout the town. If you read an earlier blog, I described how these machines can avoid even the ugliest of one lane traffic jams with ease by cruising either down the roadside or daringly down the other lane of traffic and darting quickly into a space when oncoming traffic prevents them from advancing further. Most of my soccer players and those younger come to practice on their motos, some 2 at a time. Having a helmet, even if you don't have a moto is needed in case you ride with a good friend or your girlfriend/boyfriend. I do not have a helmet as yet due to the enormous size of my head. They may need NASA to make me one. Why would a helmet be easy to find in Spain if I can't even find normal articles of clothing like shoes and socks to fit me properly?

My first time riding as a passenger was when Jose offered me a ride to my car when we left the grand opening of Sebastian's bar (another player of mine) one night. Sebastian's bar, La Gamba...or The Shrimp...is situated just on the outskirts of the old part of town, accessible by car but no parking is available. Still having a motos allows you to be close enough to park so that you can trip and fall onto the bar's doorstep. I, on the other hand, had to park my car at the bus station, a good 15 minute brisk walk away. Jose passed me that night when I was leaving and offered me a ride. I figured now was good as any time to get the feeling of the cool air wind whipping thru my body as ever. I was feeling a bit awkward mounting behind another man but I am secure in my manhood so who cares. Plus it was near midnight in the winter; no one would be walking the town and pointing fingers wondering what we were doing.

As we sped past the local police station, I without a helmet, Jose assured me it was no biggie as we were going a few meters past the station to the bus terminal. Just then we hit a speed bump the size of a pimple on an adolescent's forehead and I was lifted off my seat. Since I am a big guy, I thought I would kill the shocks on the back of his bike when I finally did land back in the saddle. All I could compare this to was maybe riding a Bronco and it bucking me nearly clean off. When I landed, sometime later, I was still alive and Jose was in full control. We stopped at the bus terminal and I cautiously exited the bike. Not because I was feeling like Pinky Tuscadero on back of the Fonz’s English Triumph TR6 Trophy in episodes of Happy Days, but because I was not sure if my heart was pounding too hard and my legs were shaking too much to stand on my own.

I was so thrilled that I ran home to tell a sleeping Carme about my adventure. She brushed me off with a "that's nice, honey. Now go to bed...” the next morning I awoke, I was craving for more. I expressed to Carme that I was still excited and wanted more; she thought to herself that we should go to her parent’s house. I had forgotten that they had two motos in the garage. They were stored there in the winter mostly and unearthed during the blitzkrieg of invading tourists for ease and mobility in this small town. She took me to her parents to see if I wanted to learn how to ride the newer of the two motos and, salivating profusely, I just muttered a "yeah".

When we made it to her parents, I began my first and only lesson in the mean streets of Tossa. The only thing slowing me down was trying to squeeze my head into the larger of the two helmets owned by her parents. I laughed internally when I saw the fallen gray hairs of her father still embedded in the lining of the helmet, wondering if mine would gray quickly when I took off on the bike solo. Finally I tucked in my ears comfortably but knew I could not wear this helmet too long as my head was feeling a slight pressure and my brain would soon leak thru my nostrils. After riding passenger with Carme, just to relive those windy and exhilarating moments, I decided to go it alone. The hum of the small motor churned and I could feel the vibrations in my seat and legs, but could not heat it due to the skin tight fit of the helmet on my head. I hit the throttle and lifted my feet from the ground as the moto took off and I was securely settled in the saddle. I wanted to yelp out a "YEE HAW" but, as when you are wearing earphones and trying to speak, you tend to speak a little louder than you should and all of Tossa would have heard it. I took a roundabout and came out fine. I was scared I would not be aware of how to balance the bike but, sorry for this, it's like riding a bike. I took a few laps down the street and back, trying my best to avoid pedestrians and abiding by the laws of traffic, while praying for no increase in traffic all of a sudden.

When I finally came to a stop, parked the bike and took off my helmet with a resounding and echoing pop like that of a suction cup, I smiled and staggered my wobbly legs to the nearest seat and just smiled for the rest of the day.

Another year and counting...

So yesterday was my birthday. My first birthday in Spain. The day started well. nothing spectacular. Carme and Alex woke me from my sound and deep slumber and dreams of Pink, Christine and Maya singing "Lady Marmalade" to me. I know how to give my own self a birthday dream. Watching the video non stop for a week helps, too.

Alex began the day with a lovely hand made card. there is something to be said about his spelling in English. I have to work with him on that. but phonetically, he was spot on. Carme greeted me with her usual morning breath kisses afterwards. I was hoping the day would be better as we went along.

I walked Alex to daycare and survived the usual, yet unusual, line up of "Dad why does..." and "Dad, how come..." questions. Most times I like to come up with a really outlandish answer to see how much influence I still have over him. At age 36, I wanted to know if he had figured out how full of stuffing I really am.

I made my way back up the hill to have coffee with my darling and was greeted by my mother in law also. She asked what I had received for my birthday already and, knowing that money is tight and not expecting anything too extravagant, I just replied that my family is more than enough of a gift. Wow, she understood me as my response was met with "awwwww".

I then headed off to my tiny little shop, enjoying the morning breeze and casually greeting familiar faces with the usual "hello's". I had hoped for a good day full of customers as I whistled and pasted a smile on my face. To my surprise, I got more customers today than I had any other day. The cash register hummed pretty much on and off all day. It was a good feeling.

At 1pm, Alex joined me in my shop, off from his day care to go home to have lunch with me. he greeted me with hugs and kisses and wished me happy Birthday, yet again. The best present in the world. Carme was in the middle of a firestorm at work and called to tell me she was not going to make it home for lunch. I was sad but I knew she had some upcoming things in the works so I made no fuss and assured her all was fine.

At home, Alex spent most of his lunchtime laying in my arms as we enjoyed cartoons together. I recently got him a collection of Foghorn Leghorn movies. Now he can see why I tattooed that rooster on my shoulder.

Near 3pm, Alex and I headed back to town so I could drop him off for his afternoon session at daycare and I braved the midday heat to make it back to my shop for the 2nd half of my day. As I went to open my shop doors i noticed a large ribbon attached to a new aluminum mountain bike sitting in my shop. I was near tears thinking how I had longed for a new bike (there is no where to park here in the summer since so many tourists have entered our little town, the price and availability of gas is becoming ridiculous, and I need the exercise). I immediately called Carme and she let me know that it was a gift from my in laws. It was heart warming.

Afterwards it was time for my shop to close. Alex did not have his bike with him so I opted to walk home with him and prepare for our dinner celebration at 9pm. Alex and i both dressed in our summer's finest clothes and made our way to the restaurant. We were greeted by my entire Spanish family along with family friends, Jesús and Evita, his wife. Jesús presented me with a pair of swimming trunks from Lacoste, but of course, they were a wee bit tight. Not that I tried them on right there, but later I did. Johnnie and Natalie gave me a futbol jersey of the Spanish National team which was poised to (and eventually won) the European championship on the coming up Sunday against Germany (hooray!!!).

So we sat down to have a meal, the 10 of us. And the owner, another family friend, Mercedes, greeted us with the usual and warm conversation. she is always gentle and nice with the kids despite Noelia commanding the entire attention of the whole restaurant. we were seated in the middle of the restaurant. i love this restaurant because half of the tables are seated under the sky. it was quite warm and humid, not like Hampton, but enough to keep my forehead moist. Still I was enjoying the occasional breeze.

Mercedes let us know that we had a new waiter from Argentina. It was his first day and she wanted to see how well he did with our table. I thought it to be odd that his first night he was getting a table of 10 but who am I to complain. After waiting for this waiter to come take our drink orders. just then I heard Mercedes scolding him for being too lax and I knew we were in for it tonight. finally he came over. we were sitting 5 a side of a long rectangular table. It was me, Carme, then Alex, Jesús then my father in law. on the other side was Natalia (directly cross from me at the end of the table), Johnnie to her left, then Noelia, my mother in law and then Evita. The waiter came to my end of the table and might I say, with his first words, i knew I was in for a long night.

For starters, he was chatting way too much. I am just getting used to understanding simple conversations but his Argentinian Spanish was killing me. Second, he reminded me of someone who might have did drag shows to supplement his income, since he was a horrible waiter. He kept complaining how hot it was as he passed out the menus. He kept my menu to fan himself and hoped that it was OK with me. I laughed inside and just read off of Carme´s menu.

Later he came back to finally take our drink order. He took about 30 minutes just getting the order correct and I was thirsty. But still I help my patience and smiled nicely. The whole time he hovered above us, he kept touching my shoulder. Now I am secure in my manhood and happily married, so I was not too homophobic to knock him for a loop. He spent as much time touching everyone within reach also so i did not take it to heart. Johnnie was especially uncomfortable with this friendliness and offering to fan him.

Now the kicker to all of this was the restaurant owner, Mercedes. She seemed flustered and unsure of her new waiter. Hovering within earshot and correcting him along the way. I do not know Mercedes very well but from what I can tell she is very friendly, loves her restaurant, and especially takes good care of her customers. She nipped at the waiters heels and he seemed to give respectable lip back while complaining how hot it was. She just threw her hands up. My father in law was especially not pleased and let Mercedes know about the people she has hired.

When he brought out our appetizers, because my in laws have to warm up their stomachs before the main course and help stretch the time out a bit. It just isn't a family dinner without Noelia grabbing attention anyway she can, Natalia sitting at the end of the table smoking away, my mother in law speaking to any and everyone walking in or out of the restaurant, Carme still translating the menu for me and Alex being so hungry he cries until we get hims a whole cheese pizza (mind you they are the size of an average dinner plate ...without oregano and no burnt cheese) only to eat enough to constitute a mouthful. Another 6 € down the drain.

Still the whole time, the waiter, let´s call him Alfredo or something, kept complaining how how it was. He thought if I looked cool, then I would feel cooler. so he produced a pair of shades that looked like they came from Elvis Presley himself (70's Elvis that is). He insisted he should slip these on me. Carme egged him on. I was so caught up in Spanish flying around my head that I am not sure who suggested it but somehow there is a photo of me in the shades with Alfredo trying to hold my head. Something is fishy here. So I put on he shades, so what. Every time I go to take them off, he seems to be focused on me and putting them back on me. Still hovering, touching my shoulder and fanning me. By this time I was nervous to go to the restroom by myself.

At the insistence of Alfredo, I returned to my table to receive our main courses. Also I was receiving knowing eye contact from other patrons. their eyes would say things like "you have a lot of patience" or "better you than me". I was laughing inside because I think some single ladies were wondering if I were gay and my friend (Carme) was setting me up because surely she was not protecting her husband...more like she was instigating the whole episode. My birthday is going so well now.


Finally, the food was being delivered. Still, avoiding any time of eye contact with Alfredo and hoping he would not want to be my birthday gift later on. When I looked over my shoulder to see my plate coming in. I noticed just beyond my eye focus, something odd. The waiter had taken off his pants!!!

Still claiming how hot it was, he innocently pranced around in red and black boxer briefs as he served everyone's meal. The entire wait staff looked horrified and the other patrons are now in a roaring, simultaneous laughter. All eyes fell on me to see how much I could take. I was a throw away from exploding. Here I sit, remembering a conversation I had with Mercedes just 5 minutes before, explaining to her that she should give him a chance, 's only his first day...well I finally got let off the hook.

Mercedes came to the table with a big smile as Alfredo announced to everyone that it was my birthday and this was a huge practical joke. For weeks, Carme had been working with Mercedes, the actor, and her mother in law, to plan this somewhat elaborate hoax. Carme knows I have the patience of an ox so she knew I would not lose my cool. The entire restaurant laughed even louder and clapped. My normal waitress came over and gave me the customary kiss on each cheek and Mercedes began singing happy Birthday in Catalan. Just then they brought out a lovely lemon cream pie with candles saying "36" all lit. It was quite a draining experience.

my new summer time love...

That´s right, i have fallen in love. No disrespect to my wife, whom I adore dearly, but this is an attraction I cannot deny any longer. This new love of mine is full of sass, spunk and just as easy as Sunday mornings. I see her everyday, mostly after dinner but on the weekends, I have her all day long. Carme is not the least bit jealous because she and I look forward to having her together. Oh, and her name is Sandy.

Before your mind wanders and goes all in the gutter, I am talking about a summer drink that totally is refreshing and satisfying. If Spain is offering me anything worthwhile, this drink is the top of the list. A Sandy is a mixture of beer and lemon soda in a wine glass but i take her in a tall glass. the more the merrier. She has a cousin called Clara which is beer and Sprite or Tonic water but i am not brave enough to cheat on Sandy just yet.
One might cringe at the mixture, but on these warm summer days and hazy evening, it is more than enough to quench your thirst. It´s delicious, refreshing and smooth. The lemon and sugar mixes nicely with beer, which I abhor to no end. I am not a fan of beer in the least bit. I rarely drink it and when I do it's jut to fit in the crowd. I am more of a tequila or rum drinker and that is a rare occasion.

Carme and I giggle as we both have pains for this drink after dinner as we sit on our balcony watching the world go by. It´s my job to make them and her job to drink them with me. we even go so far as to make the lemon soda nice and icy so it´s half Slurpee and half cold liquid. I am in the process of finding a Slurpee machine so we can have them on tap when we want.

Try it for yourself. But don´t expect to get a buzz. Might take 6 or 7 to do so.

San Juan....a day to be careful

Ok I think I have had enough of Spanish Holidays. By far this is the most nerve wrecking holidays of them all. I should have headed the warning signs, but nothing prepares you for this day.

Tossa is quite the small pueblo...I can`t seem to say that enough. Until you come here you cannot imagine just how small it is. I have nothing to compare it to in America. It is literally impossible to have a town this small and still put it on a map without giggling. Tossa is so small that I could sneeze on one side of town and someone would catch my cold on the other, if not for the constant, gentle and inviting sea breeze that sweeps over us. With that being said, let me tell you about this holiday.

Well actually I have no idea what this holiday is for. Most businesses were open, as were I to avoid going to the beach with the family and my niece. Mostly the businesses were open because this is a tourist town. No high rise business offices here, no home offices of any major banks either.

Also, just about every day there is some saint´s day to celebrate. The more popular names get the most attention. every one here is name Maria so that is a huge shopping time. It´s usually treated much like a birthday but as you get older it seems you tone down the partying and extravagant gift giving. well when I asked Eric what was so important about this day, he just replied that half of the country is called Juan, namely the King. I sighed and pressed on. Carme could not answer the question ether so I am sorry, you have to look it up for yourself.

But the best and worst part of this day and leading up to it is the fireworks. I am not talking about driving in the warm southern night to Chesterfield County fairgrounds to brave mosquitoes to catch a 30 minute show of "ooohs" and "ahhs" while you kid has fallen asleep and begging for you to take him home. I am talking more like firecrackers. And everyone but me had them. Kids as young at 8 and 9 walk around with pockets full of these loud poppers and bangers. Older kids have knapsacks full of cherry bombs and beetle bombs. even the adults are launching explosive flares that burst 40 feet in the air. And this does not happen all in one day, it`s spread over a week. Many days I sit in my little store, mindfully working away on yet another website where the customer wants every animated gifs and unreadable fonts they can think of, which goes against the very fabric of effective website design. and just as I go to sip on my perfectly cooled iced cafe con leche...BANG!!!! POP!!!! SCREEEEEEEAAAAMMMM! Good thing coffee doesn't stain.

As soon as school is let out for lunch break, the popping ans whizzing starts. Carme warned me to beware of prankster throwing poppers in my store and running to startle me but I think they are afraid I would catch them in a 40 yard dash. After 40 yards I am done for a good week, but again...TOSSA IS SMALL and I would find them. There is only one school for God´s sake.

I took the startling bangs all week and got pretty used to them but when the sun started to set, the activity of pocket lighters and mischievous prankster increased. We went to have a meal at her mother´s house which I can only guess is tradition. We had plates of cheese, shaved Serrano ham and another of my favorite things to eat, wide loathed and seemingly thin sliced crusty bread rubbed with the juice of a raw tomato (simply call pan con tomat or pa amb tomata, in Catalan). Sorry if I get off on a rant here but take some bread (not the sliced bread like Sunbeam or Wonder Bread...go to a bakery or Ukrpos) and toast it if you would like. then cut a tomato (red not some half green one you got on your way to work from the Dinwiddie County gas station) and squeeze and rub on the bread so the seeds and juice are spread across the bread. Depending on the type of tomato, size of the bread, and if Jupiter is aligned with Mars, you may need the whole tomato or another half. The bread should not be soggy but the taste of the tomato will be all you need. Next dabble a little olive oil over the bread, again mind the saturation of these two tastes. And to finish it off, sprinkle a little salt to give it that extra kick. Simple but full of good tastes and quick to make or to eat with a nice dinner meal.

Back on point, so we are having dinner at her mom´s on the back terrace, with a perfect view of the town´s mostly clear sky as twilight was setting right about the western horizon. I would have enjoyed this time with my entire Catalan family if not for the random and loud explosions going on all around me. I had trouble tasting my food as I was imagining that this is what Beirut must have been like in the 80´s. and while I was yelling "INCOMING" and diving under the table. I swear it literally shook the dinner table. Out of the corner of my eyes were flashes of light and explosions louder than my thoughts. Occasionally a rocket was launched and exploded in the now dark skies. But nothing as organized at the Caroline County Fair site. Needless to say I was getting a bit shell shocked at the noises and flash bangs increased in frequency. This is why Tossa, being a small town, is such a big deal. I heard every firecracker that was purchased and lit that week and that night!

After dinner, since we had walked to her mothers, we took turns hiding in bushes and low crawling in the grass to cautiously make our way home. What normally is a 5 minute stroll was now a 2 hour duck and weave for our lives. Alex got a kick out of playing G.I. Joe but Carme was not too please when she hit a bush of thorn and brier.

We thought we are home safe. Notice I said...thought! The fireworks lasted well into the night and early morning. I sat in my widows with a flack jacket and Kevlar helmet waiting for the Nazis to come rolling thru town or the Spanish Nationalist Army or something. Finally when I could not keep my eyes open any longer I drifted off to sweet dreamland. I am not sure how long I was asleep before a thunderous explosion went off outside. I do not not how close it was but it woke me enough to realize I was drooling on my teddy bear I sleep with. I felt the shock of the sound waves in my feet but I am not sure if it was the explosion or me jumping from being startled. I was sleeping like a baby and refused to wake up. If the explosion blew up my house and took off my legs as I initially thought, then I would deal with it in the morning. Snore.

One reason why I want to go home....

In dealing with businesses here, namely those services essential for survival, there are an old cultural set of rules which I suspect come from the closed off culture of Spain. I am accustomed to the competition and customer service driven business atmosphere of America. Say all you would like about Capitalism, but the focus and aim of capitalism tends to benefit the consumer and the consumer sparks the economy, the economy sparks business...and so on and so on. When business is difficult to deal with, customers feel as though they are economically enslaved to a system that profits from this. Here in Spain, I feel as though the idea of choice is a foreign idea, for lack of a better phrase.

For so long, the state runs the necessary and essential services and in some capacity still do. There are benefits in the city supplying water and sewage to their citizens. Competition in placing separate water pipes to a home don't seem economically feasible. Still with the deregulation of the telecommunications industry in America, it took many years for other companies to get a foothold in the market share of long distance providers but today you can chose between Sprint, AT&T and so forth. Still these companies pay a usage fee for the millions of miles of fiber optic cabling provided by AT&T in the 70’s and 80’s but still a way was found to make these new telecommunication companies to provide reliable and economically affordable products.

In Spain, and most of the Spanish speaking countries around the world, Telefonica is the major source of telecommunication. Sure they provide long distance, local and Internet connections much like those companies in America, but I would say they own maybe 99% of the market share. They are the giants here in Spain and if you want a phone, you have some choices but the competing companies are far off the mark when it comes to availability and offerings in rural towns like Tossa. So when we moved here to Spain, we found it essential to get a home line connection for telephone and Internet. With the inception of my business, I knew I would need telephone and Internet there also so we set up two different accounts. In order to pay for your accounts, the norm is to give your bank account information to a representative and it is automatically debited each month. Since Spain is in the 21st century when it comes to debit card use rather than writing checks and balancing checkbooks, surprisingly Spain is well equipped to handle this idea. Still if you live hand-to-mouth, instead of risking coming up short monthly, you tend to live without certain amenities but the economy holds well enough that most people have cell phones and satellite television (don´t get me started on cable providers here…there are none).

Our problems all started when we changed bank accounts in January. At the advise of my in laws, we were guided into choosing another local bank to handle our money. Still here in Spain as it was centuries ago in America, you build a personal and daily relationship with your bank office in your town. Sure they have ATMs to feed the availability of Euros to the many tourists who come, traveler´s checks are nonexistent here. Of course we called all of our providers (gas, water, telephone, satellite, etc) to advise them of the change in account information. Still we found that the inability to change account information reliably was as poor as their common sense. One morning we awoke to no running water. Eyes crusted with last night dreams and heavy sleeping, faces caked with the oil from active glands, breath only sweetened by the use of bottle water used in brushing our teeth, I headed over to the local water company to inquire why we did not have water. It seemed that we did not pay our January bill. How coincidental…we changed our account in January. But it is now March and I hold the transcript from our new bank account showing that we paid our February and March bills. Still the local office of water, Sorea, claims we never paid January´s. Did you send a notice that you were to cut off our service for 30€ (roughly 45 dollars...that´s right, a month of water is $45!!!!)? Of course they did not, that would be too practical and cut into their profits to print a piece of paper and walk 4 blocks to my apartment. When he looked at his computer screen, I asked him what bank account number did he have…and he replied back with the old account number from our previous bank for January, the new account number for the following two months. But somehow they had the new account information to get their February and March payments.

I hope you are following this because here is when common sense comes in. If you have successfully retrieved payment for the past two months, and there was a change in bank accounts, why are you still trying to pull money from the old account? Why would you just not pull it from the new account. He replied simply…we cannot do that.

OK why did you not change then bank accounts for January? He replied we did…but I guess not in time. I figured my leading down the path of reason and common sense was in fact not getting him anywhere. He was Ray Charles looking for the light at the end of the tunnel. I was wasting time and my family sit in last night's stench, dreaming of taking a hot bath on this chilly morning. I sighed and paid in cash the balance of the bill, all the while thinking if I had indeed paid January and had not paid March, I would still have water, so it was not a fact of being late, but having a negative on my account for more than 2 months. Am I explaining this well enough?

Well it doesn't stop there. The same issue happened with Telefonica. But this time, I had my service cut off in May due to a bill not being paid in January, even though they successfully have received Feb. through May. They turned off my phone with no warning, email or phone notification…to my business. I was unaware of this due to the fact I had my phone service transferred from one location to my shop I am presently in. Since i was waiting for another state run agency to come and connect my electricity (they promised one particular day but never came stating they did not have enough work to do in Tossa to warrant making a trip for little ole me, a paying customer). I could not connect my phone or Internet to test whether it was functioning or not. When I did finally get power and opened my business, I was not surprised to see that my phone was not working, although my Internet was. When i called Telefonica, they stated I was turned off because I did not pay my January bill. Sigh. Again same story with the accounts.

So I headed to the local postal office to pay my bill and the next day I was turned back on. Well the story goes on. 3 weeks later, Carme called me at the shop and discovered I had no phone connection. I was unaware, as it is not common practice to routinely call myself from my cell to make sure my phone is working. But it sounds like a good idea if this is going to be common place. When I called Telefonica, they were unsure why I had no service. After an hour on the phone with my cell phone raking in big bucks for Vodafone, I was finally told that "the computer thought I had not paid my bill and automatically cut off my phone. Being a computer technician, I found humor in the words "the computer thought". Let's get this straight. Did you ever see the movie "War Games" with Matthew Broderick? you know where the computer takes over and almost starts WWII? Or better yet "2001: A Space Odyssey" where HAL went ballistic. Where I have a news flash ...computers will never take over the world. Computer only can do what you tell them to do. You tell a computer to cook a piece of bread for so long to make toast. If mechanically it fails, well you have a burnt piece of bread. But the little computer in the toaster doesn't say, "uh oh...we are burning the bread, EJECT!!!

So here I sit without phone service and magically, my Internet connection fails in mid conversation with this moronic person on the phone. What a coincidence. When I asked when they will correct THEIR mistake, I had to be put on hold to get an answer. I expected something along the line as "let my computer think about it." i was then informed that it may take up to 10 days to have my connection restored. Of course they would have to send a technician to Tossa to reconnect me. I am sure it may be longer if they do not have enough work to come to Tossa to justify the trip.

Luckily, 5 days went by and I had a technician show up at my door. He connected my telephone and Internet but treated it as if it was a new install. In doing so, he connected me with a new phone number. When I inquired, he informed me he had his instructions and could do nothing about it. Thinking he was an extension of Telefonica, he sarcastically replied, "do you want the service or not. If not I have to go." Right then my life flashed in front of my eyes. Specifically the portion of my life when I am thrown into a Spanish jail for assault after sticking my sized 49 shoe into his paella eating ass and deported politely back to the US. I grit my teeth and take my Spanish medicine of rudeness, frankness, and laid back "I don't make the rules" attitude.

To make a short story longer, here I sit thinking about what I have learned today and how I can grow from it. In a nutshell...nothing. I am redesigning my fliers to reflect my new number. Good thing I was too lazy to make new ones 3 weeks ago since I needed to change my address on my business cards anyhow. As i share this story with more and more of my neighbors, they take it as the norm. They respond in horror but somewhat expectant to hear of these issues. What can you do. I just hope that this feeling of complacency does not wash over me and seep deep into my being. I am American and I demand customer service. It´s in our constitution somewhere I am sure of it.