Ok, today is the first day of my new position, and I am way up on the 7th floor. the flourescents are out, i have a pentium 3, a printer, a scanner, and they bring snacks to each other!
I am in cubicle heaven. Once again, a matter of degrees.
We had this family friend who was, in retrospect, rather charming and handsome for an old guy. He was Chilean, and had this gorgeous accent and a wife who liked horses. My sister used to flirt shamelessly with him (the clueless way only a woman who had gone to all girls' school can), thinking he would never take her overgrown lolita act seriously, as he was married and she was the daughter of his friend. That assumption was shattered, however, when one day he "propositioned" her in his hotel room in Manhattan. My mother was angry. She had always been under the impression that he had a thing for her, not her daughter.
I studed Spanish in highschool. He used to tell me, "Adina, each language has its purpose. English for business. French for diplomacy. Italian for opera. but Spanish....Spanish is the language of love."
He gave me my first collection of Garcia Lorca poetry, because I loved the ballad of the sleepwalker (Romance sonámbulo). It is about, I think, a dying soldier anxious to return to the ghost of his lover. In honour of the holiday of chocolates and commercial love, here is the first verse, translated: Green, how much I want you green. Green wind, green branches the ship on the ocean the horse in the mountain. With a shadow on her waist, she waits on her balcony green flesh, hair of green and eyes of cool silver green, how much I want you green beneath the guypsy moon all things look at her but she cannot see them.