Well, I made it through the week...more or less alive. Please tell me why three children always insist on doing three different things in three different places all at the same time?? At least I'm getting my work-out in. Besides becoming a pro chocolate milk chef and having the daily honor of wiping Alvaro's royal hiney, here's what I've been up to this week...
On Monday, Alejandra and I decided to turn a little baking fun into our English practice for the day (basically we make English "lessons" out of anything we feel like doing, simply choosing to speak English instead of Spanish). After much collaboration, we decided on brownies...easy enough and a foreign dessert to Ale. Three ingredients in, however, I could tell we were headed for disaster. Trying to estimate tiny amounts in their huge and only liquid measuring cup was hard enough, but no vanilla extract either?--So, we omit it...how much difference can one teaspoon make? Wait, this kitchen seriously doesn't have any teaspoons or tablespoons? Where am I?! When Ale didn't even recognize the Spanish word equivalents, I tried to describe the nature of these measuring spoons in efforts to reveal their hiding places. When she started uncovering ladles and whisks, I knew we were in trouble. More guessing amounts and measurements. Before popping that thing the oven, I reviewed the recipe one more time just in case...please tell me what kind of brownies call for more sugar than flour? If Ale wasn't so stubborn, we would have thrown in the towel at ingredient number three. I'm determined to try again and give this girl a real American brownie experience if it's the last thing I do. There's sure to be more cooking in our future too as Solete bought me a Spanish cookbook a few weeks ago since I had mentioned to her my interest in Spanish recipes. Anyways, at least we practiced some English or something.
Much of this week was also spent at the pool. Summer in Madrid is hot, hot, HOT! but not humid or buggy, so I can't really complain. Pool time also means reading time for me :) ...that is, between obligatory "monkey" and "gorilla jumps" in the deep end with the boys.
Friday, after watching Tiana y El Sapo (Spanish version of The Princess and the Frog) with the fam, Ale and I tried (and failed) at having our planned sleepover. Spending the night in her room was immediately ruled out since it's not as "cool," leaving the sole option of making a bed on the floor of mine. Only after trying at least three different bedding models and techniques with cushons, blankets, and pillows of every shape and size, telling stories, trading stuffed animal sleeping buddies, and of course, tickling her arms, did she finally realize that falling asleep on a 3-foot long bench cushon wouldn't make for an ideal night's sleep (a SHOCKING admittance given her strong will). At 1:30am, we waved the white flag and I walked her upstairs to her "not-as-cool room," just in case one of the shadows in the living room might jump out and eat her.
Saturday came and I was eager for a day off in the city. One hour and fifteen minutes of metro-switching madness later, I got off at Banco de Espana and headed for the Prado. Mrs. King (8th grade teacher at Rivendell) had sent me on a mission to see the Deposition by Rogier van der Weyden and fulfill her own personal dream. Standing in the entrance, I realized I had conveniently forgotten to write down the name of the painting or the artist. I vaguely remembered a first name kind of like Roger and that the title of the piece may or may not have started with the letter "D." This was really helpful when I picked up the information pamphlet to find only ten (of the hundreds) of artists listed...and by last names only. Fully aware that one could spend weeks in the Prado and easily get lost, on a whim I opted to visit the room of the artist with the longest last name and find a painting beginning with the letter "D." Mission accomplished. And it even turned out to be the right one. I amaze myself sometimes.
Next stop was lunch. I've probably become too persnickety about Menus del Dia for my own good since I ended up not eating until nearly 4pm as a result. Sitting on the terraza overlooking the Banco Centro de Espana (between Puerta del Sol and Gran Via), I enjoyed ensalada mixta, relleno de ternera (thin slices of beef in gravy), patatas fritas, tarta de queso (cheesecake), a complimentary glass of red wine from my waiter (my new Colombian friend), and an impending heart attack. Having someone to chat it up with almost made me forget how I was shamelessly feasting by myself.
After lunch, I rolled myself over to La Puerta del Sol to take advantage of Rebajas (major Spanish sales in July and January) and to remind myself of my youthful freedom--sometimes I forget that I'm not actually a mother with three children.
It never ceases to amaze me how many Spaniards stop me to ask for directions. Of ALL the people on the street, you've decided to ask me!? I'm sure they're thinking the same thing as soon as I open my mouth to answer.
Resolving to hit the metro with enough time to catch the Spanish/Paraguay game, I managed to get caught in a massive gay pride parade instead. Sandwiched in between men clad in nothing but tighty whities and glittery couples mid-make-out session, I tried to focus on not panicking from claustrophobia, not getting pick-pocketed, and on avoiding the buckets of water being dumped from apartment balconies 6-stories up. At least all the drunkies around me seemed to be enjoying themselves. I think it's pretty appropriate then that the Spanish word for parade is manifestacion since this was exactly that: Mardi Gras meets gay pride.
Anyways, I missed the first thirty minutes of the game as a result. Thankfully, each world cup game has been projected on huge projector screens in every bar and cafe, which made it easy for me to catch up while I waited for Solete to pick me up in downtown Boadilla. Another big win for Spain!! I'm pretty proud to be in Spain right now--ALMOST made missing cheeseburgers and fireworks on the fourth worth it...almost.
Sunday, I followed up with an offer from Alejandra's best friend's (Laura's) family and went to church with them in Madrid. I wouldn't be surprised if this were the only Baptist, let alone Protestant Church, in the entire city. To be Spanish is to be "Catholic." What's more is that most Spaniards have never even met a Protestant. I'm very encouraged what God has planned for Ale and her family by placing such close believing friends in their life.
We spent an hour in the service and then split off by age for another hour of Bible Study. I tried to act natural when my turn came up to read aloud from the passage in Judges, but got compliments on my "cool" American accent instead. Poop.
One thing that continues to excite me is singing praise songs in Spanish. It reminds me of just how big God is, that it doesn't matter in what language we cry out to Him; He hears us, understands...and is delighted!
Any free time I get, I love discovering new dirt running trails or biking into "downtown" Boadilla to write postcards at cafes. I am committed to trying a new cafe each time I venture out, however, am already torn since I think I've found my favorite, which offers a fabulous iced cappuccino with complimentary pastry slice for 1.36 euros.
Boadilla del Monte to Madrid is a lot like Falls Church to DC in its quaint, suburban feel, lying just beyond the city limits.
I am so thankful for a weekend that has left me feeling refreshed and sufficiently-napped...bring it on, work week!
well you can never forget a name like roger! the parade action sounds fun :) and i'm glad your back is feeling good enough to run!
ReplyDelete