War zone. A first.
Muffin and i had our first encounter in war zone. There were no injuries but it was messy. And smelly. You may want to catch other details.

Me needs this now
"The Time-Turner is a small silver hourglass worn on a chain around the neck. It's a very powerful and dangerous magical item which literally turns back time for the user, one hour per inversion of the glass".

Unfortunately, only Hermione Granger has one. And she is a fictional character from a friggin' Potter book.

Oh, rats.

Or maybe i'm just having a bad few weeks
Sometimes i want to close the shop, shut this weblog down and start walking in the opposite direction. Not that i know what direction is opposite from keeping a blog.

Fading out of the rainbow
We went shopping a few days ago. We got shoes for the man, pjs and hat for the little one and a tshirt for moi.

At some point i decided the outfit shown on this picture was a fun idea. I even mismatched a top and a skirt, equally loud, different patterns, and tried the new ensemble.

Pablo took some phone pics and cheered all along. But i flaked out in the end. I guess my rainbow brite days are slowly fading out. I'm not sure if i'm wisening up or dumbing over.

Research
Do you participate in an internet forum on a regular basis? If so, which one and why? i'm working independently on a research for this idea i had on forums and i thought i might get some feedback from you, so please don't be as shy as you usually are in the comment box area. And i promise i'll answer back. Ah, go on.

Phoney day
Look at it, isn't it just lurvley? It's Uma's new phone, ladies and gentlemen! I'm happy. Give me a gadget, throw in a little design and make it do little beeps: you'll get one simple happy girl.

The story behind this cell is one of extortion and greed. Following my inmoral husband's advice, I threatened my mobile company. I even took the first steps towards signing a new contract with a competitor.

My company called me less than 12 hours later and offered the gorgeous technological prodigy shown in the image (i'm Spanish, i exagerate for fun) and a 20% off my bill for the next six months. And they called me 'Doña'. Several times.

Small things make me smile. Small phones make my day. Now call me.

(*)

I am from
I am from the glass jars lined up inside the cupboard, from Kellogs Crunchy Nut Corn Flakes, Agua de Nenuco and Cristasol, from the coffee table with the pack of Gitane's my mum left there. I am from the apartment bursting with sun light, cozy, familiar, filled with the muffled sounds of rusty swings outside.

I am from the kentia in the white pot, the wildflower arrangement on the kitchen counter and the tiny palm tree at the entrance, i’m from the sunflower bouquet and the distant windy mountains.

I am from brown parcels sent overseas in Christmas, a stack of decoration magazines, from rings featuring joined hands around a heart, from orange freckles and thin fingers, from Thomas and Rosa and Desmond. I am from the small waist, the big hip, the long neck and the chestnut eyes with a hint of moss.

From the pirates recited out of dad’s mouth, the “don’t pull a face or it will freeze like that” and “if you don’t taste it you’ll never be a gourmet”.

I am from God may or may not be out there but you can still be happy not even considering those options. From the Sunday Irish mass and the Sunday Spanish siesta.

I'm from Madrid, Jaen and Kildare, from paella, pink sauce pasta, mince pie and custard for dessert.

From the little girl who turned nine, waited all day for a birthday present and ended up with an empty perfume bottle from her mother, and the young writing promise who ran over to France to catch up on forbidden films.

I am from the lower half of my mother’s dresser and the red box in the study, from the collection of hats that began centuries before me, before you, from the envelopes of pictures capsulating summers of water and mosquito bites, from the dusty notebooks and the piles of reread letters. I’m from the remains of nine moving trucks and from the gold band with a name inside.

_______________

As seen at Andrea's, following this.

(*) I once uploaded more old photos, here.

True fighter
I met Tse in high school, a little after we turned 14. Around 1988. She had spiky brown hair and huge eyes. She refused to wear anything outside black and purple. She had strong beliefs, political, cultural, almost physichal. She still stands by them, actually.

At the time, I was also experimenting with as many things as i could. I wore bright colours which stood out even more in her post-punk presence. I fell in and out of love like the teenager i was, throwing butterfly kisses into the air and blushing repeatedly. She would roll her eyes at me.

Tse wasn't really into the high school hassle. She couldn't care less about socializing, doing girly stuff or dancing. She liked Basque punk and French songwriters. So did i, unexpectedly for her. We were so different, yet so drawn towards each other.

Years rained and we fell apart with almost everybody from those days. Even from each other. But we still talked from time to time: once a year, twice, maybe more. Somewhere around the 90s we caught up and spent an entire summer isolated in a country house. We were officially studying for our September exams, but secretly we lingered under the sun, jumped to the sound of Caribbean beats, got drunk on sweet licquors, got high on her parents' pot, discovered old movies and had a blast in general.

She wears more colours nowadays but her hair is gone back to spiky. Whiter, irregularly cut hair. She is permanently involved in issues. She claims to be fighting capitalism her own way. And believe me, she has many ways. She volunteers for farming groups out in Cuba. She marches on the streets. She talks about her ideas. She explains concepts. She gets worked up if you don't agree. She talks again. She is a true fighter.

Tse the true fighter decided to become a single mum and gave birth to a little baby girl last Monday. I haven't seen them yet but she sounds soothed and happy on the other side of the phone line. She asks me questions about baby clothing, nursing and postpartum feelings. I talk. She laughs. She tells me her baby is too small but healthy. A true fighter, i say. She whispers 'yeah'.

Louder
This city is getting louder by the minute. As in screaming in the streets. Banging car doors. Playing loud techno from teenage girl clothes shops. Yelling into cell phones. And of course, drilling the sidewalks with heavy machinery every friggin' five metres.

I suppose i'm used to the quietness of my own little town, exception made of the summer, when motorbikes periodically roar under our windows. I'm growing accostumed to Pablo's shy tone of voice, which as lowered mine considerably over the years. Our tv plays quietly at nights, for fear of interrupting Bruno's sleep and because we like it that way.

At work, things are far from the newspaper hassle i used to live in. The agency is more or less calm, with small conversations taking place in the kitchen and Brazilian music coming from one of the emacs.

Yesterday, i surprised myself with a couple of space hours after work. Unexpected free time with just me to hang out with. I gladly complied and jumped on the subway, headed for the centre. I wanted to buy Muffin a few things and mainly hang out around the busy area. After half an hour i'd had my share of noise.

I did my best to keep a 'normal' conversation with Kurt on the phone but it was impossible to keep up with the loudness around me, try as i may to cover the speaker with my hand, avoid excavation zones or turn the volume up. We eventually gave up and i got on a bus back to my peaceful home.

Famous
Voilá my contribution to Photo Friday for the 'famous' challenge. A hiding Bob Dylan at Tower Records from an ever moving car. It sums up pretty well the afternoons driving around Los Angeles last september, sensing stuff but not really seeing it there, flying by.