I have decided that it suits me better to write less more often. When too much time passes, my news items seem both far too many and far too dull, like climbing a featureless mountain. Far better the short and frequent blow by blow, perhaps. A more quotidian approach might be less daunting for both reader and writer. I hope.
Quick drawing of Goya in Central Madrid
- ¡Madrid! was satisfyingly foreign for so short a flight: a bright, lively place, in an aftershavey, self-confident way. My friend and colleague Maria lives in a crooked triangle of narrow streets between broader tree-lined avenues. Lovely fruit and vegetable shops. Tapas bars. Comic shops. Open squares. All Very Nice. I even managed to dust off to some degree the now spidery, dessicated part of my memory labelled Spanish Vocab and Grammar. It is surprising what comes back through the gloom when the pressure is on:
Una lata di Coca, por favor, and Dos paginas di carta adesiva. And you know that obnoxious, mock-patient way teens have of saying: Hellloooooo? That translates precisely to Holaaaa, te estoy hablandoooo. (Maria has a nine year old son. On the whole being with the two of them at close quarters for the week in that warm apartment made me appreciate my life enormously. They are utterly charming, but it is No Joke being a single parent with no support from the other parent, financial or otherwise.)
- Back in the dear ould durty town, we've been doing some adoption stuff. We did our medicals, always an Interesting Experience. (The JB was asked for dating advice by the doctor at his. Doctors are human too, it seems. He advised joining the walking club that facilitated our meeting. Apparently he and a friend googled Meet women and it, the walking club, you understand, came up. It is fortunate he did not Get Led Astray with this method.) Nearly all our dossier documents are thusly prepared, save the letter to birth mother which is proving to be something of a stumbling block for me. Our agency has quite bluntly advised us to fill it with photos of us looking young and having fun with our happy, healthy extended family. It is deely unsurprising that I feel weird about this, I suppose, (the person who has caused hilarity recently by saying: Well, I'm going upstairs to read my introvert book*.) I understand why it must be so - of course the birth mother would want to see us - but am so uncomfortable with the idea of showing us in a flattering light. Bleargh. Must rethink. I have promised I will look at some samples today. (Advice welcome.)
I will return next week with further bulletins from the edge of the fair city.
Till then, hasta luego, so to speak.
*Quiet by Susan Cain. Highly recommended for introverts such as me. Made me feel normal!