Edu in the restaurant

In addition to yesterday's morning meeting I again descended the stairs of pain to go lunch with my buddy Alan. We went to the restaurant on the other side my front door. It's called Ca' Nuri, which pretty much means Nuri's joint. Over the August break they completely gutted the place and gave it the full BCN modo makeover. It's a nice place.

So Alan and I discussed relationships, how to be an artist and how to get into more trouble going to even more weird places with a camera. It was lovely.

Now here's the real story. Sitting next to us was Edu. Edu is probably 60 and owns a nice cafeteria (coffee shop) on the other side of street. He's an interesting guy, he has a grey pony tail and makes a good cup of coffee. Edu says he makes the best cup in all of Barcelona. OK, why not.

Alan wanders off to the servicios and although we really don't each other I strike up a conversation with Edu. So he tells me about his house in Horta (another neighborhood) and how it's on a quiet street and how the birds sing in the morning and how he can see the mountains and the sea if goes up on the roof and looks between the heating vent and crack in the wall... and then he says that this week I should come with him to his house and he'll fix me lunch because he's a great cook.

OK there it is again. That Spanish thing. "Hey how you doing?" turns into a invitation for a home cooked meal from some guy that you have bought a few cups of coffee from. Damn. What a country.

One Word... Joselito

So today I had my first meeting away from the casa since I got home. OK it was just at the corner of the street at the resturante called "Tapasbar" which of course does not serve tapas. Considering my pathetic Tim Conway old man walk I thought I'd get there early, find a chair and do the FDR thing. You know be regally seated as the other meetings participants arrive. But as it turned out my new friends arrived even earlier and were seated right in the window I would have to pass directly by. I didn't know what they looked like but I could tell from their wild gesticulating hands and smiles that they knew who I was. Damn... what a cartoon. I kept right on going around the corner to the health food shop, picked up my pal Lucy's recommended vitaminas and garlic capsules, 2 jugs of zumo de manzana and headed back to the resturante. Yep it was them. I sat down and regaled them with tales of the Saharawi, dysentery and camel humps.

Before we got down to business for some reason we started talking about Ham. Well in Spain just about before you do anything you usually eat ham and if have none to eat you talk about it. Word. Joselito. The Jamon of Jamon. Remember it.

Visits

Yesterday 2 friends stopped by. Well 3 friends were going to but one had a cold and wisely thought that with the immune system suppression rat poison I'm taking it might be such a good idea if he dropped in. Probably so.

Visitor 1 was the Dutch Flamenco Maestro Evert. Evert and I are in the midst of a budding friendship. He's wandered a long way off his musical path and wants to return. Me, I'll honk on my harmonica at the slightest sign of protest. Over a cup of coffee we finally hatched a plan. The goal: busking on Saturday mornings with our kids. Note: busking is performing on the street. We will learn 3 songs. One will be "Way Down Yonder in the Minor Key" by Woody Guthrie. Another will be "Niama" John Coltrane. Kind of a diverse rep, no? Another might be this song I wrote this summer. The kids pass the hat. Evert and I keep the cash.

Simple. Doable. Done.

Visitor 2 was the indomitable new Lucy. What ever she is taking I'll take 2. Over botifarras, peppers and potatoes we engineered a possible future for the Saharawi project.

Good friends. God bless them.

Conflict

I guess we have preconceived notions about what it might be like if we get sick. How people will react. How we will react. Will we be John Wayne toughing it out, step by step, on his way back in a navy hospital so he can return to fight evil? Emotionally and spiritually supported by his wife looking on with a slightly worried, affirmative, beatific smile.

Will tawdry problems go away? Will troubled relationships heal themselves in the face of a larger, more profound issue? Will we be better people because of this? Will connections deepen?

Well as in everything else it's not a black and white answer. Friends and family have come out of the wood work to offer so much. Twice daily calls from my parents. Bi-weekly calls from my brother. Visits from friends. Soup from neighbors. Cards. Presents. Flowers. Amazing acts of kindness. People acting out of love and compassion. Humanity at it's best.

An what about effects on the patient? Well I have been amazingly optimistic and positive. It's not something I have had to rise to, it's just there. I guess John Wayne is not a bad model.

But do the big, big unresolved problems go away. I don't think so. I know that there are other, new pressures that are added to mix. More work. More demands. More pain. More insecurity. More fear.

Domestic conflicts have unfortunately not gone away and intersection of the emotional and physical is magnified by the situation. A angry remark can completely negate the John Wayne effect, turning a stand up model patient into, well something else. It seems that in being ill everything becomes clearer. Angels appear. But unfortunately the other guy too.

The truth is: the truth is the truth.

A touch...

So this morning I had to go get a blood test. The process of getting there was pretty horrific. We live in an old apartment building without an elevator so I had to descend 3 flights of stairs. Thank God for hand rails. We got in a cab. Another world of pain. We then made it to the outpatient facility but unfortunately you have to descend another flight of stairs to get to the entrance. And no handrails. But there was this gadget to get wheelchairs up and down the anti-handicapped barrier. I used it and felt really sad for doing so. Inside they took me right away. I went with a nice middle aged nurse and she must of seen that I was in pretty bad shape. Here's the magic. She took my hand and stroked her fingers lightly against it for quite awhile. It felt so good. Another angel I'm sure.

Haitian Birthday Party

Zoe's friend Gamy and her older sister stopped by earlier this week to invite her to Gamy's birthday party. Gamy lives up stairs, is about to be 10 and and she and her family are from Haiti.

Zoe heads upstairs at the appointed hour. We hear an army of kids all having a great time. "Who let the dog out! Woof, woof, woof, woof!" seemed to be a favorite tune.

Anne Rose, Gamy's mom, showed up later to see why we weren't there. We thought it was a kids only party which apparently it wasn't so Benedicte accompanied Anne Rose back to the party. Me, I guarded the couch. Which what I've been doing mostly since I got back from the sterile slammer.

An hour or so passed and Benedicte and Zoe returned with platters of Haitian goodies. Dirty Rice, roast Pork, plantain fritters, macaroni and cheese, guava cake, spicey meat turnovers... in short, Caribbean heaven.

I love Caribbean cooking. I love black cooking. It's like it's made by angels. Black angels who kiss you on both cheeks, hug you and laugh like there is no tomorrow.

El Reyes

Traditionally in Spain it is not Santa Claus that brings kids presents it is the 3 Kings. Catalunya has Tio Caga but that is an entirely different matter having to do with happy children beating a log until he poops candy... I am not kidding. Anyway I digress... of course now kids in Spain get the full magilla of gift opportunities; Christmas Eve, Christmas Morning, but the big one is the 6th of January, the day after Epiphany.

Here's the deal, all over Spain, from the tiniest hamlet to the biggest cities the three kings arrive and are then paraded through town. In addition to looking noble and in general "king like" they also machine gun tons of rock hard candies into the surrounding throngs. Eyes are put out, fights ensue and in general a good time is had by all. After the participants return from various emergency rooms and first aid stations the children open a window and then put out a bowl of water and a plate of bread for the thirsty and hungry camels who are carrying the three kings. The next morning of course the water and the bread has dissappeared and gifts from the kings have appeared under the tree (or log if you live in Catalunya).

So of course Zoe did her bit for tradition and was rewarded with a fairly slutty "Baby Bratz" doll (I'm gonna have a word with the kings next year); some dance slippers, tights and tutu and a personal electron microscope from geeky old Baltazar.

OK when I was a kid I was up at 6 nagging my parents to get up so the festivities could ensue. Now it's me that is up at 6 nagging my wife and kid to get up. Funny how things never really change.