Little Winning

Tiny triumphs. That is today's incipient theme. 

Going merrily about my daily routine (or at least, with as much cheer as one can muster at 06:30 on a Tuesday...), I came to put on my jewellery for the day and discovered I had reached a stumbling block: the tangle of necklaces that would undoubtedly hinder my progress. With a sigh, I set to unravelling the metallic weave and endeavouring to retrieve the chain of choice. A few minutes went by, and I was at the point of giving up hope for the day and doing without when my stubborn streak kicked in. Sure enough, competitive nature won through - I was able to detangle the entire knot without too much of a delay. I felt a small wave of elation, for as minor as this win may have been (and I am under no illusion as to the grandeur of my achievement, fear not) it still helped me start the day well and without grudge or gripe. Other such recent events to help set the day up for a smile have included a waitress defending her bar and its patrons' possessions from young thieves, who intended to pinch whatever possible (including, oddly, my soggy brolly which was quietly dripping by the door) until they were magnificently thwarted by the valiant lady and her relentless shooing. On a less tangible note, there was also a rallying unison during the recent metro strikes, with disgruntled citizens coming together to help each other into/out of the melee... Tube strike uniting old and young alike, all for one and one for all - the crowd turning itself inside out to aid and abet fellow journeyers as they conquer the metro's defiant delays and amassing hordes. It is surprising how oft the train thus transforms itself, how fine the line between a collected assortment of unknown individuals and a group come together through the sharing of an attitude, idea, purpose, or even just a smile... A random chap begins a series of owl noises, and the surrounding carriage feels a fleeting unison as shy grins are exchanged for understanding glances, and all social walls are momentarily broken by his harmless yet untoward behaviour. This type of practice is uncommon, for it is not the done thing to smile at those we do not know. It implies a level of 'more'. At what age do we stop appreciating each other simply for being human beings born into this world? It is deemed perfectly acceptable to smile at children, babies especially, waving at them in their prams or rewarding their very existence with a grin or even a treat. Yet to do this to youths or adults would be rather frowned upon. Bizarre.
I, for one, would like to take the time here and now to say that humanity is pretty darn awesome. The ways in which we come through for each another, as much in the everyday tiny assistance as in grand gesture scale of things, are quite remarkable. From the mundane such as holding doors for complete strangers that extra second longer just because they are older or heavily laden, to friendly off-hand compliments slipped in unexpectedly, brightening your day with a few simple words. 

But I digress. True, I love the way we humankind help each other out, yadda yadda. The point of today's musings, however, was to revel in the delight of everyday occurrences that are in themselves unremarkable, but which compositely get you out on the right side of the metaphorical bed. The most basic of these is invariably weather-related for most of us: the sun coming out suddenly elevates moods and spirits, especially when unexpected. And on the odd occasion that this sparks a rainbow, let alone a full one, why then the joy just keeps on spreading, doesn't it?! Like the sky is leaking happy. Or something like that. Leastways, my personal favourite aspect thereof is not the plethora of colour dazzling the skies (for somehow, no matter how old, I always, always want to chase it and see about that pesky mythical leprechaun... thanks, Dad, for the horseplay of that disappointing impossibility. Just like the tomfoolery regarding mountain sheep, which do not, in fact, have two legs shorter than the others if they go in the same direction for too long. Ahh childhood naivety. Thank heavens I never checked to see about the removal of 'gullible' from the dictionary. Moving swiftly on.) - no, the quirk that floats my particular boat in this scenario is - I was recently delighted to learn - known as 'petrichor'; the smell of the earth after the rain. Natural bliss. 

In slightly less hippie ideals, there are many more silver linings to be appreciated in life. Favourite songs being played on the radio, finding all the right ingredients you need already in the cupboard, mixing together two terrible-tasting drinks to get rid of them... and creating a delicious cocktail, re-starting a batch of cakes and STILL having enough ingredients, having to kill time waiting for someone and happening across a replete little watering hole to while away the delay, getting to the end of the month and realising you have just enough to pull together a meal or make ends meet to tide you over until the next big weekly shop. Dream. 

It doesn't all have to be about happenstance either - you can, to an extent, premeditate your mini-good fortune: stashing away a twenty in a wallet crevice to be discovered at a later date, overdoing it a tad at the gym so that you can award yourself some sneaky booze or chocolate (NB I am not, of course, advocating nor indeed admitting to any such healthcare regime...), planning out your week a little so that you have time to do the things you want to do, saying yes to new opportunities or events because they sound like good fun, without feeling you have to (riskily) wait for a group approval to participate. This weekend, I went solo to a street concert (compadres were disabled by varying degrees of hangover, poor mites), and the result was I had a whale of a time. Ambling around the city in the sunshine, not impelled to anyone or anything, pitches a delightfully nomadic freedom and bestows the tantalising gift of possibility: of adventures waiting to happen, secrets to be unveiled, felicity to be found in heretofore uncharted waters. Well; go forth and prosper, say I... 

Odds and Ends

Life is full of humorous daily oddities. We do not have to critically analyse each and every thing that crosses our path to discover them; we merely ought to be open-minded about what we stumble across, ready to be amused, interested, or even inspired, when presented with the right stimuli. Life proffers up such gems every day, we merely have to keep an eye out. 

A few examples that have tickled a smile from me recently:
- a Westie dog out for a walk in the park wearing a leather jacket
- bagpipe practice, again in the [same] park
- a woman trying to get through airport security with four large hold-alls of hand luggage, and not one, not two, but three of the exact same straw hat precariously perched atop her head
- my own dear mother trying to make a snow angel in a nigh-on vertical bank of snow
- seeing the inside of an escalator during its annual cleaning (not so much funny as very mildly fascinating, and so rare a feat that its strangeness and my privilege sparked the smile in this case)

And the best part is, these kinds of weird and wonderful things don't have to be from personal experience - swap such a story with a friend and there's double the fun already. A friend recently told me her flatmate, a tea-making novice, was concerned because the kettle had 'run out of water' and would therefore need replacing...

The internet, too, is a marvellous source for all manner of tiny crazies - this week alone there's been:
- a video about a homeless, toothless man who can make his moustache dance in extraordinary ways
- an intriguing etymological explanation of the term "piss poor"
- a play-off between an American subway busker and a saxophonist on his way home
- a story about an Argentine chap, enraged because the pair of toy poodles he'd purchased turned out to actually be none other than ferrets on steroids. Delightful.

So, dear reader, I beg of you not to become disenamoured by life... It has so many charming quirks to appreciate - lend a cynical eye where you will, just don't write yourself off to being too close-minded to notice...

There's a Spring in my step

One for sorrow, two for joy... 
Spring has finally sprung, the sun has deigned to grace us with some shine, and the world seems a better and brighter place than this time yesterday as a result. Who'd've thought, eh?! Just turning up the sky wattage has coaxed us out of shells and coats alike here in Madrid, and although there is a lingering chill from the vestiges of winter (it was only yesterday, after all...), sleeves are already getting shorter, and the sunglasses are most definitely out. Bravo.
Nature, too, is reveling in this joyous occasion: a birdsong soundtrack and cherry blossom backdrop enhance the scenery; buds bloom offstage, waiting for their chance to burst forth with colour; magpies are but one of the birds taking to the stage of courtship, with glossy wing and gleaming eye belying their romantic intent... Nudge nudge wink wink say no more.  
But my absolute favourite moment of this first springtime day was the glow of sunset's caress as it made the buildings blush... That pure Mediterranean radiance as the fading light strikes facades for one last hurrah, windows winking and twilight blowing kisses from the horizon. The orange aura never fails to impress, tracing steps of contentment across the day's end, setting it to rights just nicely. The dusky violet haze left behind in its wake reflects the serenity of the evening, and the intensity of the clear night sky to follow can inspire even the mildest of star-gazers to level up in their philosophy, and ponder some deep thought or other. Possibly. But let's just say that either way it looks darn pretty. 

Now I'm not saying that all this is hereon out a guarantee: nay, I would not dare to be so naive - chances are we'll be back to drizzle before we know it. It is, however, a rather nice little trailer for the season ahead, and my appetite for warmer weather and balmy breezes has been well and truly whetted, to say the least. Bring it on. And in other news, thank goodness the seasons are finally changing, because I really fancy a picnic. 

Spring also brings with it the wonderful opportunity for change. Spring cleaning, as one of our adopted seasonal traditions, can be the perfect excuse to begin a new chapter in life: habits are easier to keep without the overhanging gloom of winter; outdoor exercise becomes a probability rather than vague possibility (and just as well!); new pastimes are dreamt up (usually involving the park, it seems); and moods are generally inclined to be as light and bright as the weather. Pathetic fallacy eat your heart out. 

So I say this: decide how you want your spring to go, and do your utmost to at least start it off that way, with as positive an attitude as can be dredged up from the dinge of the wintery blues. Your sunshine may be hiding just around the corner, or it may well play hide-and-seek for a little while - or if you're in my beloved Britain, well, then, who knows if it will ever stick around, so good luck ! - but you can still make the most of the shift in your world's emotional kilter and work it to your advantage. Go forth, be merry, frolic like a fieldful of lambs, or just take a second to appreciate whatever side of it floats your boat... From hot crossed buns to daffodils to the fluffiest chicks you ever did see, spring is indeed a wonderful thing. 

(Don't) Rain On My Parade...

They say that old habits die hard. Well I'm starting to find that new ones are just the same. I have recently begun to adopt the charming Madrileñan habit of sizing everyone up on the metro, giving them a good staring to see what they'd opted for - possibly even giving the gracious nod of approval favoured here that doesn't in the least bit seem patronising whatsoever! (I jest, of course, but it does appear to be somewhat of a national pastime.) I am now almost unable to cease. 

But it resulted that my tendency towards colour in clothing = frowned upon. Brown is to the Madrileña as black is to the Parisienne. Let's just say the coral raincoat currently in my possession attracts more than a passing glance because it's too darn bright and happy in stark contrast with the humble taupes, tans, and other such suave and sombre shades. But I just can't resist - any chance to brighten up a grey wintery day... 

The one saving grace here, therefore, is the sea of umbrellas that pops open amid the puddles, little personal rooves of all colours and sizes, a sea of technicolour canvas. It brightens up the drizzle with an uncomplicated grace, ebbing and flowing as its' bearers weave their way about town. For a city so daubed in serene elegance and subtle tones, the affinity towards bright brollies is a sight to behold. Dream. 

And so I marched on with my own brightly-coloured 'bumbershoot' (rumour has it we Brits are to thank for this word - definitely not as far as I can tell, but a marvellous manipulation of the English tongue it is too!) proudly held high against the downpour, and quietly rejoiced to myself in the merriment of the melée. Next time you're dodging the droplets why not glance about to appreciate these little splashes of colour: sure, they're not a real sunshine-induced rainbow, but they're far more tangible than any leprechaun pot of gold, that's for certain! 

Faith, trust, and a little bit of pixie dust...

One of my philosophies in life is that I may not agree with what you have to say, but I will surely defend your right to say it. (Well, just so long as 'it' isn't going to cause harm to others. That doesn't sit too well.) 

This does not, however, mean that from time to time I don't resent the selected manner of delivery in sharing said opinion. If the content of the message, be it in line with my own views or not, is being etched into someone's metaphorical skin, then I would have to draw the line, and kindly request the orator back the heck off. Or at least adopt a less aggressive tone. Or maybe I would merely tut at them. Mentally. But you get the gist. 

Well, the same situation played out today, on the metro. There we were, minding our own business, in blissful ignorance of each other's trials and tribulations, calmly respecting the codes of polite train conduct, when suddenly, a wild religionist appears. (Denomination shall remain un-stated, though feel free to imagine away and pin whatever assumptions you may choose to this scenario.) Needless to say, she had the faith. Up and down the carriage she went, preaching her morals, sermons, observations, and whatever else she fancied. Some folk turned away, some pretended not to hear, some turned a vaguely attentive ear. Headphoned-up as I was, I initially assumed it was just an unusually loud conversation within the carriage. Then, as it dawned on me that the voice was getting louder and seemed a tad pointed, I realised the source of the mêlée, and paid a little more attention. Not particularly because I was interested in what she was saying, but because there was something in her manner that implied she actually had so much faith in what she was saying that she really wasn't bothered what people thought of her and whether they were listening to her, she wasn't trying to convince us of nor sell her beliefs, she merely wanted to share them with us. It wasn't about her message, but her passion. That's the inspiring part here. She wasn't going about it in a harmful or offensive way, and we perfectly well had the choice to ignore her to our hearts' content. And as I stood up to disembark the train at my stop, she happened to be departing too. And do you know what? She carried on talking right the way through the door, and onto the platform. Off she shuffled, proclaiming away and quite happy to be doing so, thank you very much. That level of dedication and devotion was what drew me, not her words, and I think the lesson one could learn would be this: that if you're going to have a cause, a passion, a love, or even just a penchant for something, well then you might as well go whole hog and do it properly. There was no beating about the bush where this devotee was concerned, she just dove right in and got on with it. No need to worry about the impracticalities of orating whilst exiting a train, not when she had such conviction and movement to her cause that she wanted to offer its message to all and sundry. That, my friends, is the power of belief. And wouldn't a society without belief be a drab prospect indeed?! 

P is for Party

As you may already have gleaned from previous entries, or indeed thine own wisdom on the subject, Spain is prone to partying, and requires little in the way of excuses to do just that. This weekend bears no exception. 
I learned but two days ago that this was to be some form of carnival weekend, and sure enough I was not disappointed to see revellers bedecked in guise and glitter, making merry about the city. Now, this is nothing to be sneered at. Make no mistake, had I not had previous arrangements to be upheld, I would more than likely have been costuming up and taking to the streets to join my fellow party-goers. Nevertheless, my reason for writing to you today, dear readers, is as follows: if there's cause for festivity, be it a socialite soiree or simply a shindig, you might as well make the most of it. Celebrate life as it goes along, and join in the fun as and when. Don't be afraid to raid the fancy-dress box every once in a while, or put on your glam-rags, or even just go out when you'd 'probably' have just as nice an evening at home with a cuppa in front of the telly. For shame. (I am not disputing that this is not a very viable course of behaviour, I am a big fan thereof myself, I am merely championing the more pro-active convivial option at this point.) At the very least, it certainly makes for a good hearty tale to tell afterward! 

And, without wanting to lower the tone on any supposed level of eloquence, here is a little ditty to help you remember the above advice, from whence came the title: 

[To be 'chanted' in a mildly aggressive American tone. Yes, you heard. Apologies.]

P is for party, and
A is for alright (alright!) 
R is for rowdy*, and
T is for tonight (tonight!) 
Y is for you, and you know what to do, so
Paaaarrdaaay! (Don't let your momma know) 
Paaaarrdaaay! ('Cause she won't let you go) 

*I learnt this 'song' with the substitution of ready for rowdy, and a few variations on the bracketed forms. Ad lib as you will; I suspect the message is clear.  

Parklife

Part 1: In the gloaming

This one goes out to all the When In Romers... Having taken up running last year, and wanting to continue that habit post-relocation, I endeavoured to find a good circuit in the walkable neighbourhood shortly after moving in. And lo, there 'twas, a newly developed riverside park complete with wheel-friendly paths, some truly admirable landscaping, and a good deal of activity equipment to make even the surliest child crack a grin... Dream. Thus, I donned my jogging attire and set out. The more I ran, the more I realised that I was becoming part of a mass movement - the park life. There are different levels to this animation: some folk are just out for a simple stroll, others yearn for greater velocity and thus take to their trainers or wheels, whilst a select few are hell-bent on a personal best, and will dodge, duck, dip, dive, and dodge their way through and around the dawdlers as best they might. I fall into this second category: not that I'm not content to amble about at my leisure, rather I admit I unabashedly use the park to slake my cardiovascular needs. 
Well, to begin with I was quite satiated by a good run a couple of times a week. If the sun were out I would go out more frequently. Wonderful! My workload was upped, but I mercifully I discovered that, in fact, my favourite time to run was chasing the sunset across the park, trying to race it home and beat the dark... The twilight hour changed everything - the intensity, the spirit, the emotion: the carefree gallivant became a purposeful stride, children were being taken home instead of taken out to play, bats began to dance across the darkness while the moths played with the street-lamps. And best of all, the sweet scent of sun-kissed earth lingered in the air, as it only can in warmer climes. Well, that, and there was the added touch of a cleanly bleach-like fragrance of the detergents floating down the river. (On a tangent, some have quibbled the latter, protesting as to the safety of the poor defenceless ducks who deign to paddle on in from time to time. Yet, this was negated by some science bods, and all is well in the world. Personally, I quite like it. It has that magnificent illicit bouquet of something not-really-supposed-to-be-inhaled, like marker pens or turpentine. Yummy.) Anyway, back on point - there was also a sporadic whiff of lavender, casually sedating the senses of any and all who wandered past, inducing a yet further sense of tranquility, aided and abetted by the chuckling of the river as it gurgled over the ornamental dams. 
And all of this to a rainbow myriad backdrop as the sunlight's final caresses make windows beam and clouds blush... The dazzle of liquid gold spilled across facades illuminates the faces of those in its vicinity, inspiring a momentary amnesia of reasons for angst and ire, and a fleeting acknowledgment of awe and admiration. 
To summarise: park = yes. At sunset, a thousand times yes. And please sir, can I have some more? 


Part 2: If you can't beat 'em, join 'em! 

That was all fine and dandy until I realised my envy of those whooshing past on personally-powered wheels (be they blades, skates, boards, bikes, prams... well not so much, but you catch my drift) would not be abated. I kitted myself out, and, fully equipped, made a bee-line for the park. This was to be the start of a beautiful friendship... 
Two months down the line - and although shamefully I must own to still not having learnt how to stop - I remain quite happily in the honeymoon phase with both park and wheels. The fact is, I am still doing the same quantity of exercise as before, if not more. But I'm willing to put more effort in, and go more often, because it's just darn good fun. I have also convinced others to join me in this persuasion, thus killing two birds with one, more sociable, (rolling) stone. (Geddit.) (Oh dear.) 
So I suppose this has brought me nicely to a well-rounded moral: if there is something you really ought to do, but which doesn't quite whet your appetite as is, explore it in other forms, styles, or mediums, until you should discover the float for your boat. Here, in such a pursuit, I once again decided to indulge my inner child, and following a common trend turned out to be an inspired way of transforming my exercise routine. As you can see from Part 1, it wasn't that I didn't enjoy running, rather the opposite. Physical activity remained, however, much more of a chore, until there were rollerblades involved. Now, it's honestly a delight. So I advocate rifling through your options, and using whatever you can to turn your tasks - not just exercise, but any assignment or burden that might benefit from such a transformation - from tedious to terrific. What are you waiting for?!