my (not so) typical day...

When I opened my eyes this morning, I felt a bit inspired to write a little this morning. As I searched in my mind for something worthy of writing, I felt that I had nothing really entertaining to say. I would imagine this is called writer's block. But I find if I just start typing, even if it is meaningless and dull, it helps to work out all the cobwebs in my right brain and get me flowing again. This is if my left side is functioning properly enough to help me formulate words and sentences into ideas. So I figured I would do a little writing exercise and tell you about my typical day here in Tossa de mar. Still you will find that today is not a typical day and is filled with one of my favorite local characters here in my small spit of a town.

The day starts with the usual sounds of activity on the streets. The trash men are doing their daily runs, banging large receptacles and the heavy trash trucks whining and whirring to lift the trash collection units, strategically placed to be accessible by all. Unfortunately, I happen to live equal distance from 2 trash bins so depending on which way the cool autumn sea breeze is blowing determines which one receives my daily offerings to the trash Gods.

Next to each receptacle are the color coded bins for recycling. I find pleasure in loading my plastics in the yellow, glass in the green (lots of wine bottles here) and paper in the blue. I find it quite refreshing that a small and secluded town like mine is well on its way to doing its little part in making our planet green.

I arise from bed when Carme reaches over to raise the full length shade which allows the invasive and penetrating sunlight to flood our sanctuary. The shades do more than block out the waking morning sun; it insulates sounds during the night of the local boys, bored out of their minds, setting off firecrackers to stimulate their growing testosterone levels. Or drown out the noises of the Barcelona residents who own or rent an apartment in our building who have nothing else to do but have dinner parties lasting until sunrise on their balconies. Carme is a light sleeper so if there is lack of space here as compared to our previous home in America, we make up for it by locking down our house and shades like the scene in Star Wards Empire Strikes Back when the Rebels closed the gate on the planet Hoth despite Luke still being out there. Still you won't hear me cry out like Chewbacca as I have grown very accustomed to the pitch black interior of the room, barely lit but the clock radio on Carme's nightstand.

So like a ton of bricks, I am hit with drowning morning light and Carme signals the start of the day and slowly rolling out of bed doing a system check like I were a computer system, seeing if each critical part of me is function at minimal performance levels. Ankles: check but sore, knees: check but no sudden movements laterally, lower back: check, but bend at the knees, eyes: check but find your glasses since your memory is old and you might have forgotten to pick up a pair of those incredibly large shoes and trip over one, thus causing damage to your ankles, knees and lower back. Once my full boot up process is completed while sitting on the edge of the bed, I commence lift off and race to the bathroom to empty an over active bladder. That body part is always in constant check as it is making it difficult to empty that bladder without causing a mess.

Now I begin my usual bathroom rituals which I will spare you the details for your own sanity. But during this process, I am in constant contact with my son to make sure he is progressing thru his morning rituals of not cleaning his room, not brushing his teeth, not combing his hair, not...well you get the picture. And finally the moment comes for us to be off to school, sometimes walking proudly hand in hand for the first few meters (that's right I am on meters not feet or yards anymore, that is so old school). Once we get a few meters from the front door of our apartment building, we begin passing the local high school to get to Alex's elementary school building. Even though the older kids being school at 8:30am, Alex still doesn't want to look like a little kid in case any older kids is looking out the window at the people passing by taking their children to school.

On any given day, I am greeted by a few random calls from the 3 story high school from the kids. Seems that most of them know me either from the soccer team or by association with the many soccer players I have coached so far in the past 2 years. A few of the familiar faces are from the local kids who have come to me for computer repair. Since I have offered those good prices and the time to teach them how to use their computers, I have built a sort of trust with them. I feel like I have gained some respect and trust with the younger generation that will only grow in time, surely. Soon as we pass within sight of the building, Alex grabs my hand again, reassuring me he loves me while maintaining the coolness he so desperately wants to hold onto.

We come to the last corner, 5 minutes into our walk and only about 3 city blocks away from our home and Alex raises on his tippy-toes in my direction with lips puckered, gesturing a kiss before he sprints off the last block to the gate doors of his school's courtyard. I bend over, carefully remembering the status of my lower back and plant a warm kiss on his cheek and run the top of his head with my hand. This serves two main purposes, the rub that is. One to reassure him how much I love him and adore his young and brilliant personality, but to balance myself from falling over in case of a system failure any of the major points of balance for my old body.

As Alex disappears from sight, into crowd of anxious parents and restless kids (who I am sure did not want to rise from bed this morning but can't wait to enter class and have another day of spitballs, teasing and name calling with their peers) I hear Alex's name being yelled out in acceptance from other kids. He is one of them and loved by his motley crew of snot nosed peers so I feel proud and head in the opposite direction to begin my day's work.

I wait for the local police officer to stop traffic and proceed to walk across the crosswalk. There can be one of 5 different persons here on any occasion and they always speak to me in some capacity. There is just enough conversation to last the 30 or more odd steps from one side walk to the other and casually pass the frozen crossing guard. I pass the occasional parent trying to hurry their little one off to school trying not to be late while their children resist any sense of urgency and are more intrigued by anything else shiny or new on their usual route to school. I am greeted with head nods and hellos from familiar faces as I pass on my way to my small little shop.
As I cross the bridge the looms over the dry river bed, I wonder when we can expect heavy western rains that seem to fill and bring water when the mountains cannot soak it all in. The river bed seems to be dry 80% of the year, but serves its purpose well to prevent flooding to affect the local business and the school along this main artery toward the beach. Once over the bridge, it's a left turn as I head up Ramblas Pau Casal toward my shop. The usual groups of mothers who have just dropped off their kids are heading to the cafe that is next to my shop. Sometimes if I am lucky I can reach the coffee shop before them so I can enjoy my usual iced coffee with mil. If I hesitate and decide to open my shop first, I might have to wait a good hour until the crowd of 20 or more female regulars and a few of their spouses all congregate to speak of local gossip. Like magic, they take their usual seating arrangements like clockwork, ever so often peering into my shop thru the large plate glass window, maybe to curiously see what I could be doing this fine morning or maybe to make me the topic of their conversation.
The local maintenance men began a project this week in installing new gas or electrical lines along the street where my business is located. Systematically, the 3 man crew has been digging a foot wide trench by first removing some of the concrete tiles that make up the 10ft wide sidewalk. I make notice at the ease of how it would be to repair the sidewalk or any underground piping instead of tearing up a complete sidewalk like in the states. This month long feat seems to throw my day off a bit as I am faced with the constant pounding of the jackhammer to break up the concrete tiles and the heavy machinery to dig deep into the rich clay soil. Still I settle into my comfy chair, which has worn away a considerable size of the vinyl floor from me sliding back and forth from my work bench to my main desk facing entering customers. One day I will get the floor fixed but I think for now it shows a little character showing how I multitask at the expense of the semi real looking flooring.
Since beginning my little computer repair shop, I brought over a few principles form America which are lacking here in Spain, namely customer service. In time, my Spanish has improved but my level of service is strange but accepted here. I spend most of my time trying to build trust and good relationship with the locals. Seems that the locals are quite weary of the first local shop here, despite the two boys who run and own it being locals or connected in some way with the locals by marriage, association or by relation, I learned that most residents did not relish in their quality of work or the fairness of their prices. And not knowing who is connected to whom is it incestuously or not, I made it a rule to treat everyone like they were related to me.
Being so nice and pleasant has its costs. I seem to attract some of the more colorful characters in town. Most of these residents usually have not need for my computer services but seemingly have exhausted their welcome from other local shops who might try to gently handle these regular visitors to their shops. One such visitor, sadly I do not know his real name, but I call him "Pues Venga" (poo WESS bin GAH). Let me explain…

In Spanish, when you are having a conversation with someone and you are exiting or ending the conversation, you might say something like "venga" which literally translate to "it goes, he goes or she goes". That is the verbal clue that you are leaving the conversation. Pues venga means literally "well it goes". In learning the language and the subtle nuances, I picked up on this phrase, pues venga, and worked to remember it to exit a conversation I was following or grew tired of having with undesirables.

One such day, this gentleman in question walked into my store. He is taller than I, his grey hair telling his age, his hair style reminding me of the characters from the 50's like on the television program "Mad Men". As he cautiously approached my desk to answer a question, I noticed he stuttered and stammered thru his attempt to present me with his needs. I do not like to make light of others' shortcomings but I noticed he was, how does one say politely, mentally handicapped. to what extent, I am unsure of this deficit but it is quite noticeable.

I have a hard enough time speaking Spanish with the many different Spaniards who migrated from other areas and dialects of Spain to come to Cataluña during the 60's and 70's to find work and prosperity here, thus planting roots to raise family where their kids identify themselves with being Catalan and the parents holding true to their past local heritage and customs as well as the different dialects of the Spanish language. Speaking with one Spaniard is not the same experience compared to another Spaniard. The way Catalans speak Spanish will slightly differ in rhythm and flow than another person from other regions of Spain. So with each new person I meet, I am faced with at least 3 or 4 extensive conversations to get accustomed to their abilities to speak a fast as humanly possible without moving their lips.

Sometimes I have no fighting chance. I rely heavily on common sense and intelligent with a splash of luck to figure out the nature of their questions or conversation. If a person walks into my shop and rattles off a rapid fire array of bullet like words while pointing at my laptop, and I am lucky enough to comprehend a few key words from their speech, I can feel safe to rule out they are asking if I am hungry or not. But this gentleman now before me is slurring, repeating and stammering thru his question. I have a little tape recorder in my head that records the conversation and rapidly plays it back to me several times in my head, affording me the opportunity to decipher what they are asking. Since he has to work twice as hard to get these words clearly out his head, off his tongue and carry thru the humid morning air to my ears and into my processing center. His question was if I had blank CDs for sale. I quickly pointed him to my small shelf of stock I did keep on hand, clearly pointing out the price tag that I had hastily taped in front of the neatly stacked cake boxes of 25 and 50 unit types for sale. He then asked the price and I turned after staring at him for one second longer to figure out if his glasses were decoration or indeed used by him and recites the price. He took a step back saying it was too expensive and I stood in silence with him for an uncomfortable 10 seconds. My mind, working at the speed of light, working to analyze this brief conversation and standing at ready to decipher his next possible comment or question. He stood before me, with a blank look in his eyes, nervously cupping one hand in the other with a slight hunch in his posture, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, waiting for me to speak as I waited for him to speak. Was he waiting for me to lower my price or offer him other solutions?

So I broke the silence asking him if he was in need of 25 or maybe just one single disc. I know it sounds odd, but many times people have walked in asking for just one CD. I do not carry single CD wrapped in plastic. If anything, you will get a package of 5 at a minimum. H reeled a little bit and stood in silence as he thought. I figured this might take a while so I sat back down at my desk to wait for his next chess move. Instead of continuing on this path, he decided to ask me where I was from. Now I am reeling from the switching of gears and thought I would play along. We carried on for a few more minutes about my shoe size, English, Obama, etc. Finally after a few moments which felt like an hour or so, he mentioned back to the CDs that lay still on the shelf calling his name, I decided I needed to move this conversation to a close and get back to my reading of the morning news via the internet. So I responded with "pues venga" hoping this will signal an end to a conversation that was going no where...but he held fast, feet firmly rooted into my fake vinyl flooring.

His conversation went on to include more items about the weather, how many people were in Tossa with the travel season upon us and about his dog that passed away a few decades again. I sat there thinking to myself about how it will pay off in the future if I am to be patient and converse with this poor chap. If word got out that I was being rude to a local person, especially with some obvious diminished mental capacity, my run at a life here was over. So when another break in the conversation came, I decided to use the "pues venga" card again and he trumped me with another question about CDs in general, successfully ignoring my silent and tortured please for him to stop wasting my time and leave.

He continued on for another few hours...maybe minutes...and I weathered the storm as gracefully as I could until all of a sudden, he said "pues venga" and quickly exited my shop, no CDs in hand. I realized that was 30 minutes of my life I will never get back ever. I also learned that "pues venga" doesn't work when I am not leaving and I want someone else to leave. Maybe I will give him the shop and go home for the day.

I know I began this blog speaking of my average daily routine and got off track with my new friend Pues Venga which I call him now because I fear having another conversation with him to find his name it might be another hour of life I will be owed in some cosmic way for my patience. But the point to the matter that this man has truly created space in my busy day to grace with his presence regularly. Today alone I have seen him 3 times grace my door way.

The first thing this morning was for him was truly uneventful, but when is it ever? I noticed the top of his Dick van Dyke hairstyle peeking from the corner of my doorway. It took me a second to place the strange sight I was seeing of a man's head bobbing sideways into my door as if he were hovering above the ground horizontally a split second before flying past like Superman. Funny how the brain takes in an image but it might take a split second for the rest of you to fall in line with what you are seeing. I am not sure how long he was standing out of view and just bending at an awkward angle from the waist to catch a glimpse of me in my shop, steady working on my blog, until I was overcome with a sense of someone watching me and I looked up to meet his eyes. As soon as the connection was made, he proceeded to enter my shop. I could not stifle a small giggle roaring from my inner bowels until it barely ruptured into a giddy and awkward smile. I laughed at the new adventure with my new side kick that was so rude not to bring bagels and cream cheese if he is going to come and have a sit down with me every morning.
Luckily, he came in and out like a tornado with no early warning system and went randomly where he wanted and left when he felt the need. Usually I am blessed to attract the attentions of the natives here so should I complain? But as soon as I felt the creative juices begin to flow and drip from my fingertips, a familiar nervous sounding footstep entered my shop. This time, he was quick, direct and to the point. He asked me if I had a Euro.

Ok let’s take a step back here. Like in the movies or television, my whole reality came to a screeching halt. I stepped out of my own skin to step back and take a perspective on this new achievement in our relationship. I literally stood a few feet away from myself and seeing both Pues Venga and myself in a freeze frame of sorts. I was not taken aback that I have manifested my daydreaming to this level of Technicolor and detail. I was now seeing the whole interior of the shop in full panoramic view. I could even rewind and forward and play again the scene like a disputed call during a National Football League playoff game, now inspecting anything part of the transaction that I may have blacked out on. I was just floored he felt comfortable enough to ask me for money. Surely I don’t think he will drink it away on some cheap wine or go score some baking soda from the wannabe drug dealers, but just the comfort in asking me for money was blowing my mind!
I, as confidently as he asked, told him I was not going to give him a euro. He stood there a moment, looking puzzled, hurt and trying to figure what he could do now as he obviously did not have a Plan B unless his plan b was to enforce Plan A. He slowly sulked out of the office, not saying a word and seeing some unfamiliar impatience in my face. Surely I could have given him a euro but what would that cost me in the long run? Still I made not of the proverbial tail between his legs as he exited my shop, he reluctantly walked out, making sure to turn ever so often to see if my facial expression had changed.

The morning progressed without further incident as I settled in to more blogging. But 1pm comes quickly. Siesta begins normally around 1pm each day and lasts until 3 or 4pm. During this time, I will head to the school to retrieve Alex for his 2 hour break. Again we walk hand in hand until we are in close proximity of the High School and onto home. There I offer him one of his 3 normal selections, pasta, toasted bread and jelly or hotdogs. We often include a quick Xbox 360 video game or a quick midday cartoon to enjoy together. Carme sits in the retreating autumn sun to firm up her now fading tan on her freckled face while reading yet another new book by Patricia Cornwell.

A few minutes before 3pm, we all exit the house and Carme usually takes Alex off to school while I head in a slightly different to my shop. Like every morning, the same groups of ladies, after leaving their children back at school after lunch break, congregates back at the next door café. Again, the conversations are updated, rumors confirmed and new rumors introduced. I settle again in my chair and begin to finish off my blog. The pounding of the work crew forces me to close my door after I lower my awning to block out the afternoon sun that not only lights my shop but causes it to come to near sauna like temperatures in the summer. But who’s perfectly done grey hair do I see peering into my closed front door. He steps to my closed door and using his hand to block out the sun, he presses his nose to my window to see if I am in my shop. The glaring afternoon sun causes this effect that momentarily blocks out the ability to effortlessly peer into my shop. I sit slack jawed, able to see him make a fool of himself like the countless cop shows with the two way mirrors in the interrogation rooms. My mind wanders thinking if he spends hours doing his hair. White people’s hair has always been a mystery to me. Especially that Ray Liotta in "The Godfather" type look.
Suddenly he realizes I am sitting here staring at him. He seems taken aback but nervously smiles and waves and I nervously wave back. He then turns and shyly wanders off to his next victim. I am proud to say nearing 5pm today, he is nowhere to be seen but I may be speaking too soon.

5pm here in Spain is an event all to itself. The local groups of ladies have long since completed their update processing and have gone back to their respective worlds to put their ears to the ground. But a few minutes before 5pm, they are back, this time with a change in venue to the school’s courtyard. Usually Carme will walk the block and half from her office to get Alex and halfway walk him back to my office where I escort him to soccer or tennis practice, depending on the day of the week it is.

I head toward the school, along with many other parents, all of us looking like we just parked in some remote parking lot and heading to the coliseum to catch the concert about to start any minute or some back country church revival. Same familiar faces, different day, we use the opportunity to use this moment, right before the large double green metal doors allow us into the courtyard, to catch a person we have to do rapid business with. Most times people only nod to me and say hello but occasionally someone might walk up to me to ask me if I am the guy that fixes computers, careful to not do it too loudly in case the competitors were within in earshot.

While I stand outside the courtyard, I wait patiently for Alex to emerge with the biggest smile on his face. Usually I am not the one to come for him so it is an extra treat for us both when I come to get him in the evenings. Today is soccer practice so he would come to me anyhow so I can cart him off by car to the field on the outside of town. Once I have passed those brief 30 minutes with him, making sure he is properly dressed out for the weather and a few words with the parents of the team, it is back to my shop to reopen for my last push on the day.

Most people work until 7pm so I keep my doors open until 8pm to accommodate their needs. As the sun slowly does a nose dive behind the high school and pine trees in front of t, I wind down my day, answer my emails and take a little time to myself to reflect on where I am and where I have to be for the coming tomorrow. At 8pm, I turn the lock on my door after killing every visible light in my office, pull down the grate that protects my all glass store front, and say my goodbyes to the usual group of hens who are congregated around one table sharing in the late day edition of the gossip. I hear then all wish me a well night by name and their cackling and laughing fades away as I walk to my apartment building.

You would never know there was life in my building when entering the hallway. 3 stories with 2 apartments on each floor, the hallway is silent and dark and I press the automatic light which stays on long enough for me to reach the first floor, find my keys and enter in safely into my tiny apartment. The apartment is warm with artificial lights, Carme doing her best to get dinner in Alex and homework done. She finishes work at 7pm like most Spaniards and suffers thru the daily task of providing a good balanced dinner. Sometimes I am greeted by Alex, Carme or both with warm hugs as I shut the door to another day of Spanish 101 with the outside world.

Eventually, with Alex asleep and Carme and I mentally exhausted from the day, we retire to bed. The last thing I hear is the familiar whining of the shades being lowered to the floor, coming to a crash if one is not careful but not enough to startle me from my now settling sleep. All sounds from the outside world are muffled and we both fall off into dream land.