Walking Spanish down the hall
Yesterday was a rough day and it left a sort of kathunk in my chest. We were supposed to go to a friend’s house for dinner because another friend was passing through from Peru. I was close to canceling. But instead, I went and soon I was transported into another space and time, a much needed other space. As we sat on the balcony watching the pink gaudy sky turn dark, looking out over the rooftops of New Orleans lovely architecture, enjoying the unusual cool breeze, we spoke about Peru and earthquakes, and New Orleans and Katrina, and about how there is so much to do and yet nothing gets done and how opportunities are lost.
All of this was discussed in Spanish.
I have so few opportunities to speak my father’s native tongue with my dad gone, uncles now passed, my grandparents gone, and the younger generation in my family rarely using Spanish. So one of the pleasures of being with T is that she brings me back into a world once so familiar, where people think a little differently, speak in another language, and have jokes that are only funny if you have a working knowledge of the culture.