Painting the House

Jerry and I are considering doing some painting. Truthfully, we're considering hiring someone to do some painting, since we've been considering painting for a year now and haven't gotten around to it.

We recently had family visiting from England and I played tour guide and tourist with them for 11 days. On one of those days, we went to the Hospital de los Venerables (the Hospital of the Venerables). Now a museum, the hospital was built in the late 1600s for poor and aging priests; it's located in the Barrio Santa Cruz, which had been the old Jewish Quarter. Jerry and I visited the museum when we were here on vacation in late 2010.

THE CHAPEL AT THE HOSPITAL DE LOS VENERABLES.
SIMPLE AND UNDERSTATED. GREAT CEILING TREATMENT.

The building, courtyards, and gardens are absolutely beautiful and include some really amazing original art, including paintings by Murio and Velazquez. But, this time around, with our interior painting in mind, the chapel is what especially caught my attention. I wonder if Jerry and I can reproduce it in our house.

THE OTHER END OF THE CHAPEL. A LITTLE LESS ALL-OVER COLOR.

 A TASTEFUL BORDER FOR OUR CEILINGS.
THESE CHERUBS HOVER ABOVE ONE OF TWO GRAND STAIRWAYS IN THE HOSPITAL.

Our living/dining room (salon) has lofty and enchanting scalloped ceilings. The idea of taping it all beforehand doesn't excite me. The idea of painting all those scallops without taping excites me even less. And their twelve feet up. I get a crick in my neck just thinking about it. San Geraldo had said he would do it all. And he's a really good painter. But he usually starts painting and then 10 minutes in says, "I'm bored," which is probably why it's been a year and we haven't done anything. The scallops would be a lot more dramatic if there were some more contrast on the walls. Right now the ceilings are white, the walls are off-white, and the balcony doors and shutters are white.

DINING ROOM.

LIVING ROOM.

Jerry and I love bold color. But, if reproducing the chapel in the Hospital de los Venerables doesn't work out, we're thinking of painting two shades of rich "golden cork" in the salon and a rusty terra cotta in the entry, retaining the off-white trim.

Either that or we'll illustrate the history of our first 30 years together in continuous frescoes. We'll see.

THE CHAPEL'S TRIBUTE TO JERRY'S 22-GREATS GRANDFATHER SAINT FERDINAND THE KING.
I WONDER IF WE CAN GET ONE FOR OUR HOUSE. HE IS A RELATION.

This Little Piggy Went to Market

IMPORTANT NOTE:

THE FINAL PHOTO IS NOT FOR THE TENDER-HEARTED (NOR IS IT FOR VEGANS OR VEGETARIANS). IF YOU HAVE JUST BEEN MENTIONED, DON'T LOOK AT THE PHOTO BELOW THE YELLOW DOTTED LINE .

While San Geraldo stayed home Thursday morning, my visiting English family and this little piggy went to market. We took a walk to Triana and browsed the public market built atop the site of the Castillo San Jorge (Castle of Saint George), which is the castle that hosted the Spanish Inquisition beginning in the year 1481. The original castle was of Arab origin and built in 1171. The castle had mostly disappeared by 1823 after years of neglect and flooding (the river is right alongside), and a public market was built in its place. Then, in 1992, the market was modernized, and the remains of the castle were unearthed along with a 12th- to 13th-century cemetery. There is now a modern museum below the market, but I haven't had a chance yet to visit. Too busy eating churros and chocolate, I guess.

And that's the end of the history lesson. The rest of this post is simply pictures of delicious and beautiful things to eat and drink... followed by a photo many people, myself included, would not find very appetizing. Remember: Mind the yellow dotted line!

SAN GERALDO HATES OLIVES. FORTUNATELY, I DON'T FEEL THE SAME. FREE TASTES!

PIEL DE SAPO (TOAD SKIN MELON) SECOND SHELF FROM TOP. DELICIOUS!

WE STOPPED FOR SOME REFRESHMENT AND SAT AT A TABLE JUST BELOW THIS POOR UNFORTUNATE.
NOTE THE ORIGINAL WALLS OF THE CASTILLO SAN JORGE IN BACKGROUND.

BEANS, NUTS, AND DRIED FRUIT. MY IDEA OF HEAVEN (WELL, IF YOU ADD CHOCOLATE).

A SWEET STOP. MORE PIEL DE SAPO.

FRESH PRODUCE.  GORGEOUS SPANISH TOMATOES. CLOTHING NEXT DOOR.

A MICROBREWERY IN THE MIDDLE OF THE MARKET. MORE FREE SAMPLES.

CHOCOLATE. I DIDN'T BUY ANY BECAUSE IT WAS TOO HOT TO TAKE IT OUTSIDE.

CRAWLING AROUND THE MARKET.
ALSO CRAWLING AROUND MANY GARDENS IN FRANCE AND GREAT BRITAIN RIGHT NOW.

 I ONCE HAD A SICILIAN FRIEND WHO WOULD SCOOP THIS (FOREGROUND) FROM THE SEA
AS WE SWAM AND SUCK THE CONTENTS FRESH FROM THE SHELL.  NONE FOR ME, THANKS.

THE YELLOW LINE

.....................................................................

THE HEAD OF A PIG BELOW 

AND THIS LITTLE PIGGY WENT WEE WEE WEE...

Would Someone Please Answer That Kid?!?

"MaMA! MaMA! MaMA!"

"MA!!!"

I hear it almost daily during the summer, usually in the coolness of the morning. The cries seem to go on forever. At first I thought the kid was neglected. He doesn't just call out "Mama," he screeches it. "MaMA!" I thought maybe his mother was one of those parents who didn't even notice the noise anymore.

GREAT-NEPHEW JACK, VISITING FROM ENGLAND.
NOT THE KID I''M TALKING ABOUT AND
DEFINITELY NOT DEPRIVED OF LOVE AND ATTENTION.

Poor little guy. He lives across the street and I can see and hear him from my balcony. His name is Pepe. I know because, unlike his mama, the neighbors call back to him. "Hola, Pepe," they say. "Qué tal?" (Hi, Pepe. How are you?)

All Pepe does is call back, "MaMA! MaMA! MA!!!"

Mama has left him out on the terrace for an hour. She finally takes him back inside before it gets too hot. She coos, "Hola, cariño," (Hello, darling.) 

Obviously, she does care.

PEPE. ALONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN ON THE BALCONY.

The Attack of the 50-Foot... Asparagus

The Giant Asparagus (aka agave americana) is now in bloom in the Plaza de la Concordia. It's a wonderfully slow process. The flower stem began to appear in April. It looked like a giant asparagus spear mid-May. In early June, it had the look of a branching tree. The "tree" began to bud later that month. Here it is approaching mid-July and the "tree" is in bloom while the plant itself is dying off. The flower spike on this particular agave is, I'm guessing, around 20 feet tall (6 meters). They can get up to 26 feet (8 meters).

A LITTLE PROBLEM WITH PROPORTIONS.  (ON RIGHT) THIS IS 60 FEET? 

My "50-Foot" headline is nothing more than an excuse to mention "The Attack of the 50-Ft. Woman," which is among my favorite B movies (the 1958 original, not the 1993 remake with Daryl Hannah). Although, to be honest, I did prefer "The Amazing Colossal Man," (1957) — probably because the guy strode around half naked. Of course, unlike the petite woman who, as the title suggests, only grew to 50 feet tall, "Colossal" grew to 60 feet. At least that's how big the producers and ad-men said he was — and you know how men measure things. Just so you know, the illustrators' and movie-makers' inconsistencies with proportion drove me crazy — even when I was 5.

Although many people call agave americana "century plant," these plants don't really live 100 years before blooming and dying, they actually live only 10 to 30 years. It's not as sad as it sounds. As the plant dies off, it produces "suckers" or "adventitious shoots" (new plants) to take its place. 'Ours' already has a medium-sized replacement growing nearby and it's sending up "suckers" all around.

PLAZA DE LA CONCORDIA, THIRD WEEK IN MAY.

NOTE THE ROBUSTNESS OF THE PLANT ITSELF.

EARLY JUNE.
PLANT ALREADY BEGINNING TO RECEDE.

LATE JUNE, WITH A NEIGHBORING ALOE IN BLOOM (LEFT)..

JULY 9. IN BLOOM. PLANT BASE OBVIOUSLY DYING OFF.

CHECK OUT ALL THE LITTLE "SUCKERS."

Look What The Cat Dragged In

DUDO'S CATCH.

Monday morning, while I was shaving, San Geraldo called to me from down the hall, "Mitchell, you've got to come and see something really disgusting."

I thought, 'Now, why would I want to do that?'

But we've been together nearly 31 years, and I know that Jerry knows that if it's truly disgusting I won't want to see it and he won't try and show it to me. So, I wondered what it could be. I also figured it probably wasn't really all that disgusting. (If it's anything really awful, San Geraldo gets the dry heaves.)

I walked down the hall to find Jerry standing in his bathroom pointing at the sink where something was lying wet and lifeless. There was an ugly yellow mass squirting from what appeared to be its head and it had one dead-and-staring black eye. It resembled a large, peeled, mushy, partially chewed shrimp. I had no idea where the cats could have found it.

"Ech!" I said. "What is that?"

THE PUBLIC MARKET SATURDAY MORNING.
NOTICE THE RESEMBLANCE?

Then I looked again and realized the dead black eye appeared to be made of felt. The yellow brain matter looked more like a wet feather. The white pulp was nothing more than wet cotton batting. It was the new 75-cent mouse I had picked up for the cats last Friday. Within 15 minutes, Dudo had pulled off its tail and ripped open a seam, pulling out most of the stuffing. (I immediately understood why it only cost 75 cents.) I guess Dudo finally decided it was too tough to eat and needed to soak a bit.

THE GREAT BLACK-AND-WHITE HUNTER.

When Dudo saw me standing there, he jumped up on the counter and grabbed the mouse by a loose bit of thread and carried it down to the floor placing it at my feet. He looked up at me proudly — waiting for me to play fetch. I'm so glad he's an indoor cat.

DUDO'S LITTLE PINK MOUSE-SHRIMP WAS MUCH MORE APPETIZING.

Another Fair, Another Virgin

While walking home from dinner Friday night with Tere near La Alameda de Hercules (with the requisite stop at a nearby ice cream place), we were surprised to come upon a little fair with food tents, souvenirs, speeches and activities, and a couple of children's rides.

THE FAIR STARTED AT 8:30 P.M.  WE PASSED BY CLOSE TO 11. 

WE DISCOVERED THAT JERRY AND TERE BOTH LOVE BUMPER CARS (COCHES DE CHOQUE).
(NOW WE HAVE TO FIND SOME THEIR SIZE.)

We found a schedule of events, which included raffles, fund-raisers, and a variety of musical performances (we arrived between events and San Geraldo was in a hurry to get his ice cream and get home to bed). The fair was a "velá" which Tere explained is a small festival. This one was called the Velá del Carmen. The Virgin of Carmen is the protector of seaman (that's men that go out to sea, oh ye with dirty minds).

HOT TIME IN THE CITY.

CARS.

I grabbed some quick photos before I was dragged off kicking and screaming to suffer through a scoop of hazelnut and a scoop of orange ice cream. It was hell. No photos of the ice cream. My hands were full.

TERE SAID THEY PROBABLY WORKED THERE.  I ASKED, "WHERE? THE STREET?"
(THAT WAS ONCE A COMMON SIGHT IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD — BUT NEVER SO FESTIVELY DRESSED.)

San Geraldo's Flamenquín

San Geraldo did it again. He fed me and then he fed the cats — not the same food. But, we are all content, lazy, and ready for some sleep. (The cats, unfortunately, will be running around the house once the lights are out... I hope I won't).

We've enjoyed a local dish called Flamenquín in a variety of restaurants around town. I know you're wondering, so I'll tell you: Flamenquín means "little Fleming," which apparently refers to the golden color that resembled the blond hair of the Flemings who came to Spain in the 1500s along with Charles V. There now you can rest easy.

DEEP-FRYING IN OLIVE OIL... YES, THERE WAS A LOT OF CLEAN-UP.

Traditionally, flamenquín is pork loin wrapped around ham, coated with bread crumbs and egg, and then deep-fried. But, it's not uncommon to find ham and cheese wrapped in chicken instead. Downstairs, Dos de Mayo serves their own version of "mini" flamenquíns. Several blocks away, Café Santa Marta serves a not uncommon version that is more than a foot long and quite phallic. San Geraldo decided to see if he could produce his own version with chicken at home. Not only did he produce it, he improved on it. His flamenquín included large pimentos, which added a nice little kick to the filling. I think he used his cookbook, "The New Spanish Table."

LOOKING JUST LIKE THEY'RE SUPPOSED TO.

It obviously won't be found in "The Zone Diet" cookbook, but at least it's fried in olive oil; it could be worse. Anyway, we had salad for lunch today, and a healthy lunch and dinner yesterday (well except for the ice cream at 11:00 p.m.), and no dessert tonight. And I do live with a saint. I'm sure we'll be forgiven.

I CUT THIS IN HALF ALL BY MYSELF. AND I SAY I DON'T COOK!

Among San Geraldo's many talents in the kitchen is his ability to use as many dishes, pots and pans, and serving pieces as possible, and to leave a trail behind on every surface. I usually walk into the kitchen after a meal and gasp. Tonight, he was especially creative (seven dinner plates, two large soup bowls, one cereal bowl; plus pots, pans, silverware for five, tongs, and more). But clean-up didn't take much time; it's my one skill in the kitchen. Besides, I'm no longer living on Kraft Macaroni and Cheese or frozen pizza. I will not complain.

Short and Sweet

A SWEET RIDE
When my cousin Al was here last week, he told me about his favorite car, the Renault Twizy. He doesn't own one. Living in Boston among Boston drivers, one wouldn't be living very much longer in one of these tiny electric cars. Although I had seen them on the web I had never seen one on the road. Two days after Cousin Al left, while Friend Albert and I were enjoying a beer at La Perlita, a convoy of Twizys drove by. There's room for the driver and one passenger, but not side-by-side.

RENAULT TWIZY OUTSIDE LA PERLITA.

DRIVER WITH PASSENGER IN BACK (IN T-SHIRT).

SWEET, SWEET MUSIC

The local knife sharpener was back today and stopped right below my window. His call is not as shrill as the sample I provided some months back — actually, kind of sweet. 

HIS NEW RIDE WITH THE BUILT-IN SHARPENER AND TOOL BOX, AND HIS SKY-BLUE PAN FLUTE.

SERENADING BELOW MY WINDOW.

SWEET VICTORY
Jerry and I actually watched European football (aka, soccer) and loved it. We watched Spain win over Portugal during the week to make it into the finals and then Sunday we watched the final game between Spain and Italy. People were gathered downstairs to watch at El Sanedrín. Jerry and I enjoyed the first half upstairs. I then went down at the half to join the crowd. It was hot outside and the air-conditioned bar inside was mobbed and noisy (with the requisite nut-job blowing a horn every few minutes). I had a quick beer, came back upstairs, and enjoyed the remainder of the game with Jerry. Every time Spain scored, Jerry and I jumped up and roared and the cats ran from the room. They didn't return for the fourth goal and kept their distance for a couple of hours.

WHILE ENJOYING A LOCAL BEER (CRUZ CAMPO) AT EL SANEDRÍN.

WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS!

MORE CHURROS AND CHOCOLATE
I had to make a tremendous sacrifice for Cousin Al. He had heard all about churros and chocolate and forced me to take him to Valor to try some. The only reason I agreed was because I was being a gracious host and was worried about my cousin. We were passing by after walking for hours in the heat. And the interior is comfortably air-conditioned. And we needed water. And, as long as we were there...

WE WERE SAINTS. WE DID NOT LEAVE WITH A BAG FILLED WITH GOODIES.
(BECAUSE CHOCOLATE WOULDN'T HAVE SURVIVED THE HOT WALK HOME.) 

AL ENJOYING A PERFECT CHURRO DIPPED IN RICH, SWEET, DENSE, DARK CHOCOLATE.
(THE SACRIFICES I MAKE FOR MY FAMILY.)

AW, RATS!

Would you shop in a clothing store that uses the below window display (two years running) to promote their Summer Sale? I won't. The poor, sweet rats.

Pierre, South Dakota, Is Not The End of the World...

... But You Can See It From There.

That's the slogan on my favorite T-shirt. Linda and Alice sent it to me in early 1984 after Jerry and I traveled to Pierre from Washington, D.C., to spend Christmas with the family. The reason for the T-shirt? The windchill was -81F when we got stranded in a blizzard in Sioux Falls and all Mid-Western airports were forced closed. We made the usually 4-hour bus ride to Pierre three days later. That took 9 hours. We spent five days in Pierre. The high temperature that week was -5F. The T-shirt must have been made to withstand the extremes of the South Dakota weather. Not only does it still fit (credit goes to me), but it's still in great condition (and I've worn it a lot).

Since our arrival in Spain, I've seen all sorts of odd variations on the English language proudly displayed on T-shirts. "IF YOU THINK THAT I HAVE HEAT... WE MY PLACE, YES." Sorry I didn't get a picture of the woman wearing that one, but she was in her late 60s, sour-looking, and quite dowdy. I didn't think she'd appreciate my attention. Anyway, I'm quite sure she was without "heat." 

Another T-shirt I've seen in Sevilla was stretched-to-bursting across the massive chest of a 20-something bodybuilder. His shirt read: "YOU CAN LOCK, BUT DONT TUCH." I had no idea what I was supposed to do. I was afraid to ask if a photograph was also forbidden.

ONE OF TERE'S VERY OWN: "DON'T GET SEE YOU!"

I've been thinking of starting a collection of poorly translated English T-shirts. Many of these shirts are, I believe, produced in China in English for Spaniards. Some of my acquaintances have laughed when I've told them what their T-shirts really say or what I think perhaps they're meant to say — when I can figure it out.

SUCCESS ALSO "CONSIST OF" POOR GRAMMAR.

Before we left the USA, T-shirts (and tattoos) written in Asian characters had become very popular. I wonder how many guys are surfing Hungtington Beach with tattoos they think say "PEACE" when what they really say is "PEE"... or who knows what else.

SOUTH (AND NOT SOUTHERN) CALIFORNIA IS VERY POPULAR HERE.

FREE "FRUIT" AND DRINKS. I'VE ALWAYS LIKE FRUITS MORE THAN FOOD.

Now, I'm on my way out for a walk in the glaringly bright sunshine. I hope to see some good T-shirts.