Oh, He's Just Playing...

Daily Garden Gnome left by my neighbors

Writing in the local paper. Local Issues with a global take. I never translate literally and the editor trims at will to make it fit. Here's my version, then theirs.

I must have missed the email. Or perhaps the message came via SMS, like the ones Donald can now send out in case of national emergencies and it somehow got lost. I guess it could have been an old fashioned letter but whatever the case is, I didn’t get it. As a result I missed the decree and I am now the only person left in town without a dog. While this may seem an easy enough cross to bear, not owning a dog does come with its inconveniences. Just the other day while attending some Blues festival concerts in el Corral de las Ciguenas and later in Santa Maria, I wasn’t able to fully participate in the shows as those who had brought their dogs could. Without a dog, I couldn’t add to the barking and howling of those around me and I have to admit that I felt a little left out. Then the other day as I sat in a terrace having a caña (wee beer), I think that my relative silence must have annoyed those around me. Just next to me, four, respectable looking middle-aged people sat, talking somewhat loudly as they struggled to hear each other over the constant, sharp barking of the dog that was impatiently wailing from beneath the table. Their impassive faces, as if they didn’t even notice the urgent barking, was surely some sort of signal to me of their disapproval of my doglessness. This sentiment must have also been shared by the three or four other tables with dogs who also joined in with the little terrier under the table. But perhaps my biggest regret is that I can’t repay my neighbors and visitors to the old town who leave little presents every day for me in my street, taking the extra time to liven up my door with some eau de toilette from their little Rover. I’m not sure if my dogless state will result in an infraction or fine, but in a city where they say there are now more dogs than children under five, I hope my own kids don’t scare your animals because, while they may seem ferocious, “they only want to play” and will hopefully help pay your pension in the future. 

Canadian Thanksgiving?

Writing for the Matador Network on my memories of Canadian Thanksgiving and what it meant then and what it means now.

Hibernating Bears and Music Festivals

Writing in the local paper. Local Issues with a global take. I never translate literally and the editor trims at will to make it fit. Here's my version, then theirs.

While it seems that summer doesn’t quite want to let go, it’s that time of year again. The time of year when the croaking of storks, ringing of church bells and clanking of processions are replaced by sounds that are normally heard on the banks of the Liffey, Tajo or Mississippi. Autumn in Caceres means music. A time of year when every other weekend the old town fills up with thousands of people taking advantage of the somewhat cooler evenings in order to enjoy the sounds of eclectic Pop, Irish music, Jazz and Blues in the open air. The normally quiet UNESCO core comes alive with this exchange of cultures from around the world and the more intimate nature of these concerts allows for more relaxed viewing than when the masses invade the city in spring during WOMAD. Children dance and get up close to the band in the calle Moret during the welcoming street party for the Blues festival, amazed that three or four people can get together and create so much fun. The steps in the Plaza Mayor become an impromptu stage as the Irish Fleadh says goodbye for another year and the city vibrates with the positive feelings ringing behind long after the stages have been packed up for another year. But as autumn turns to winter, the nights get longer, the weather becomes less inviting and the clanging of the bells once again becomes the old town’s primary soundtrack, what happens to the music? Unlike the storks that come once a year or the penitents taking the saints out for an airing in spring, music stays with us year around, sliding from the city’s squares indoors to the intimate places where music is born. Every weekend, live music pulses inside one of these rhythm temples, keeping alive through the darker months of winter those beats that give so much life to the city. But if the throngs that danced and laughed in Santa Maria don’t come out to hear it? Unlike the bears of my homeland, music, the musicians that play it and the brave souls that promote it can’t hibernate and without the support of music lovers throughout the year…well it might not make it through the long winter.