Aventuras in Spain

It's 1980 and I'm living on the Calle del Prado, Talavera de la Reina. I seem to be constantly chastising my young son for leaving his room in a mess. " Pick up your toys and put them away." " Make your bed." " Put your books back on the shelf ." It's usually a rush to get him dressed and out the door in time for school. The school bus stops in front of the Simago supermarket across the road. Many times I just wear really casual clothes, figuring that I'll dress nicer later when I venture out to the gym or shops. I usually manage to brush my teeth and splash water on my face before venturing out, but that's about all. There's this other mother I meet every morning at the bus stop who is the exact opposite, even first thing in the morning.  She always looks as if she's going out to some fancy restaurant, or to a cocktail party. She tends to wear stiletto heels, a beautifully tailored suit with shoulder padding, and a f...

It's 1973.  I've been thinking a lot about the women here in El Puerto de Santa Maria.  I find them very surprising and very puzzling. There's nobody to tell this to as my Spanish isn't all that good. Plus, I don't want to offend anyone.  But since no one questions what's going on around here, maybe I should indeed speak up and point out the obvious, that women shouldn't be living this way? Macarena  was engaged to be married, but her fiance died in a dreadful accident. She's older than me, possibly in her late twenties. Macarena wears dowdy, shapeless clothes, and always looks morose. Her cheeks are already lined and her hands look rough and weather beaten.       "I'll never marry. I'll never have children." Her face looks wan and downcast.         "Why?" I ask, puzzled.       "Because people would point their fingers at me and say, 'She already had a man'." I feel I should tell her that indeed, she c...