Why I don´t want José to be my husband.

 


   Why I don´t want José to be my husband.

   First of all he drinks a lot. Although when I knew him he already drank.
I think he´s been an alcoholic since he was a teenager. Admittedly, he drank but I liked him. That´s true. I saw a tall and quite man, strong and calm. He looked like a giant, to me, who reminded  me  The Selfish Gigant, that character who was created by Oscar Wilde in a beautiful moving short story that I read when I was a child. And José also lived in a cottage surrounded by a mysterious garden where from the lawn to every plant there, every living being was over-grown, some leaned trees included. Maybe, Oscar Wilde forgot to mencion that his gigant was also an alcohol- abuser.

   Mind you, José isn´t so big  as a gigant, only in comparison when he´s by my side, because I´m a bit short. I don´t like to recognize that I like him.
 When he was young he was blonde. He had straight long hair as soft as baby hair and got a big green pair of eyes pretty bulge though. But his shight was pure and clear. And although his nose was croked and his mouth too big and in general, he had no a goodlooking complexion, the whole set could result attractive.

   I remember my friends saying to me :
_ Do you know that boy? I´m afraid of him. Every body is afraid of him. He isn´t a bad man. Isn´t it?
_ Imagine that you turn a corner and you bump into a bloque like him. Do you picture it?_  someone said.
_ Frighten the life out of you. Won´t you?_  another one said.

   However, José was ugly but he wasn´t dangerous.

   I don´t know why I´m writing those things in past tense. Jose is still alive. He still has a large broken nose (no a surgery one) bulky lips and a sweet smile on his rude rough face. He´s fascinatig to me. Sometimes is stubbly in the morning, a moment later, almost as soon as he see me, is clean shaven. He´s so shy, so respecful. I often say to him that a stubble beard style make him toughter but handsome. Hark back two years I left him and he let his beard grow and he was horrible. A blond man with a  scruffy black bandholdz beard is sort of contrary to known laws. He seemed a kind of impostor, not  a genuine blond guy. I know that it´s no the case. But, by making conspicous his neglect I couldn´t trust him. In fact, I saw his wrong side. Why did not give up drinking instead?

   Well, eventually he did it. But I don´t love him any more. It is too late. Although he doesn´t drink any longer is still an alcoholic and he will be forever. Although he tells me he loves me I´m sorry.


   His voice is very low, often inaudible. I usually have to ask him to repeat what he´s saying. He looks always so tired, so worn-out, as he didn´t want to live.

   Yesterday I was sunk into contemplacion of the flowering climbers on the wall of his garden, climbers as the scented jasmine when he muttered to me something. _ Why do you come around?_ That´s what I understood when I asked him by ramblying myself to repeat what he was mumbling.
_ I´d like to die?_ he said.
_ Why?_ I groaned myself and I added in pain because of his interruption._ Look around. Look at this garden of yours gleaming in the sunshine!_ But talking contemplation was useless.

  Then I became gibbering wreck._ Don´t even pause a breath?! Do I?  Do you know what? You´re really selfish! Aren´t you? You´re so high-maintenance! Do you want to die! So what? Die! Die! Die! You are demanding all the attention just to make me take notice of you. Do you? And not only do you want to draw all the attention that you spoilt my resting moment!

_ I just wanted to ask you a favour._ Answered he.
    I look at him in amazament.
_ What?
_ Could you do me a favour?
_ I guess. Do you want me to get out?
_ No. It´s no that. You  can stay here despite not paying any attention to me. I´m a coward. You know.
_ Yes I do.
_ I want to die. But...
_ You told me that before. But I´m afraid that you´ll be never ready to die. A person who has been coward to live is always coward. Do you understand? I mean, coward to die.
_ I have got my late father´s pistol.
_ What?!
_ A handgun.
   Then I go shocked again._ I start stuttering._ What? What do, do, you mean?
_ Would you shoot that gun for me?
_ Nooo. But!....You have got a real gun? Have you? I´m not dreaming? Am I?
_ Yes. Look.
  In that moment I see him opening a little box. Well, in fact, I see two little heavy box, one on each hand of him; a flat one and a taller one in the shape of a cube.
  Then he put the boxes on the garden table, open the flat box and show me the pistol, an antique one from the civil war period, or maybe older.
_ During the Asturias revolution my father was a doctor there, and he was adviced to carry one of this.
   Then I burst into laughters hysterically_ Noooo. I´m not going to shoot that. Believe me I´d kill you just now....But.
_That´s what I want._ Interrupt he.
_ I´m not a fool. Do you want that junky scrap to blow my face?
   Then he open the bigger bos and tell me_ Here are the bullets.
_ Keep those things away! Please._ I went nervously gabby again_ Are you going to kill me? Are you mad?_ I was out of my wits, awfully scared. I´d have killed him!

_ No_ He said._ I wouldn´t kill a fly._ It´s you. You must kill me.
_ You´re nuts._ Then I started to talk to him as he was a child. Do you want me to go sent to prision?
_ Nobody could blame you. I know it.
_ You´re talking rubbish. Besides, I can´t kill you,because I love you.
_ Do you?
_ Yes. I do.
   He smiled.
_ I thought you don´t.
_ That´s not true José. You Know it. You know I love you. And you love me too. And now, you´re keeping all that stuff in a secret, safe drawer locked away, under lock and key so that any child have an accident. Am I clear?
_ Yes. Your commands are my wishes._ Smiling sinfully as he was I realized that he was waiting a kind of reward for his obedience. I´d have killed him. Did I say that before? Yes I did. That way he made me despite him even more.

   Next morning, I got up quietly. I called his mother.

   I made the end of my own struggle. Maybe, you need to get rid of someone. But if that person has a mother you don´t need to kill him.

   I know it was cruel. She didn´t know that his beloved baby son had got a gum hidden somewhere. He was thirty-seven and had those funny ideas about commiting  suicide....

_ Don´t worry. People who talks that rubbish never do it._ She told me.
  It was so embarrasing_ The gum is now...
_ In the best hands. I gave it to the police.
_ And José?
_ You know him. I´d kill him._ She smiled_ Don´t worry. He´s fine.

   Of course he is. I don´t know what his mother did. Since then we have quit  each other.



I


 

Strawberris by Edwing Morgan.

Una humilde traducción de un famoso poema irlandés

Nunca hubo fresas

Como las que tomamos nosotros

Aquella tarde…

Cuando nos sentábamos en el escalón

Del antepecho abierto

Mirándonos  las caras

Tus rodillas recogidas entre las mías

Los platos azules en nuestros regazos

Las fresas relumbrando

al calor de la luz del sol.

Las untábamos en azúcar

Mirándonos el uno al otro                                                                                                          

Sin darnos prisa en dar cuenta del festín

que llegaba para uno

Los platos vacíos quedaron juntos

En la piedra posados

Los dos tenedores  en cruz

Y yo me volví hacia ti

Dulce en aquel aire

En mis brazos

Abandonado como un chiquillo.

De tu boca deseosa

El sabor de las fresas

En mi memoria

Otra vez vuelve

Déjame amarte

Deja que el sol restalle

Sobre nuestro olvido

Una hora entre todas

El calor intenso

Y el verano iluminando

Las colinas de Kilpatrick:

Deja que la tormenta

 lave los platos.

My contribution on some sportive events.

    When the New Laredo Marina was being constructed it was because of an overextended plan, a more complicated general one with many other cities involved and amounted debts to overkill.
Then, we saw that all stood together by Madrid that, after failing its candidature to host the Olympic Games that year, was still bidding for the 2016 Summer Olympics and Paralympics.
So, as a kind of consolation prize , some pertinacious politicians, mainly made by bigwigs and bank managers´ friends, claimed at least to host a minor event. That purpose meant rafts of money. And as a result, half a Spain went on squandering much and much money, money that we never had.
Therefore, I see these events as the ultimate purpose to make a nation to go in a persistent debt, gobbling down more and more cities and communities, as long as they are run by the same party , of course.
Anyway, all bank loans will be repaid by a entire nation.

Generally speaking, most of these magnificient events obeis a strategic perversion. If not, how is it possible that under the pressure of an oncoming election, the ruling party usual policy is going in debt, even deeper ? I have the answer:
On one hand, they create a last period of their government as the illusion that country is quite well-off so that voters support them blithely. And on the other hand, not only can they win the elections, they prevent their opponents ruling the nation (just in case of a change of government) strongly and efficiently, knowing that under such circumstances all their opponents´ measures will result in necessarily unpopular policies in the reason of a huge intricate caustic debt. A prime target like dealing with cuts and interests payments makes always imposible other well-received policies like a health plan, for example. Very often, week governments stem from an unaffordable public debt.
Clever. Isn´t it?
To finish; admittedly, many improvements such as accessibility-based integrated measures of special equity were carried out around the town that time. Mind you, it was a challenge thoughtlessly taken, on the paradox that the more in debt the country, the wealthier.

My unforgetable José

 Why I don´t want José to be my husband.

   Firstly, he drinks a lot. Even though, when I knew him, he already would.

I think he´s been an alcoholic since he was a teenager. Therefore, I shouldn´t have taken to him. Admittedly, I liked him. That´s true.

  I remember I saw a tall and quiet man, strong and calm. He looked like a giant, to me, who reminded me of The Selfish Giant, that character created by Oscar Wilde in a beautiful moving short story that I had read when I was a child. José also lived in a cottage surrounded by a mysterious garden where even its lawn, every plant there, and every living being around was overgrown, some leaned trees included. I think that I even saw a huge weasel running across the grass once. Maybe, Oscar Wilde forgot to mention that his giant was also a dipsomaniac. Although he didn´t work- he doesn´t need it- not only never he mowed that he was always tired and worn out. On Easter, it was his mother who used to mow as soon as she arrived in town. She lived in Madrid.

   Mind you, José isn´t so big as a giant, only in comparison to himself being by my side, because I´m a bit short. I don´t like recognizing that I like him.

 When he was young he was blond. He had straight long hair as soft as baby hair and had a big green pair of eyes pretty bulge though. But his sight was pure and clear. And although his nose was crooked and his mouth too big, and in general, he had a coarse no good-looking complexion, the whole set could result attractive.

   I remember my friends saying to me:

_ Do you know that boy? I´m afraid of him. Everybody is afraid of him. But he doesn´t look like a bad guy. Does he?

  
  Now I realize that all the remarks about him were a kind of warning.

_ Is he normal? There´s something funny in that guy…Or is he abnormal? Sorry.

_ Imagine that you turn a corner and you bump into a bloke like him. Do you picture it? - Said someone and another one answered- Frightens the life out of you. Won´t you?

   However, José was ugly but he wasn´t dangerous.

   I don´t know why I´m writing those things in the past tense. Jose is still alive. He still has a large broken nose (not a job surgery one) bulky lips and a sweet smile on his rude rough face. And he keeps fascinating me. I wonder whether this is love. Sometimes is stubbly in the morning and a moment later, almost as soon as he sees me turning the corner runs to the toilet and out of the blue, is clean-shaven when opening the front door for me.

  He´s so shy, so respectful. He doesn´t even ask me why I pop in... Anyway, I often say to him that a stubble beard style makes him tougher but handsome. 

  Harking back two years, I left him and he let his beard grow and he was horrible. A blond man with a scruffy over-grown and the blackest beard I had ever seen darkened now his usually clear, wide face, something sort of contrary to known laws. He seemed a kind of impostor, not a genuine blond guy. I know that it´s not the case. But, by making conspicuous his negligence, he was going to get nothing but a threatening aspect. As soon as I saw him I got upset. In fact, I saw his wrong side. Why did not give up drinking at once?

   Well, eventually he did it. But I don´t love him anymore. It was too late. 
It is too late! Although he doesn´t drink any longer, he´s still an alcoholic and he will be forever. Although he tells me he loves me, I´m sorry.

   Besides, he is humdrum and cheesy. And his voice is very low, often inaudible. I usually ask him to repeat what he´s saying. So tired, so worn-out always he looks,  as if he doesn´t want to live, that he brings me down all the time.

   Yesterday, I was sunk into contemplation of the flowering climbers on a wall in the garden, climbers as the scented jasmine that had been planted by his mother the spring that we met, it was so rambling, when he muttered to me something. _ Why do you come around? _ That´s what I understood when I had to ask him more than twice, by rambling myself close to him, to repeat what he was mumbling. I felt obliged to do it, ramble myself, for I cannot hear a single word of him what, by the way, was giving away -I suppose- that he did it on purpose, speaking in so low voice just to close distance like a maniac.

_ I´d like to die? _ Said he.

_ Why? _ I groaned myself and I added, in pain because of his interruption: __ Look around! Look at this garden of yours gleaming in the sunshine.

 But talking contemplation was useless.

  Then, I became a gibbering wreck. _ Don´t even pause a breath?! Do I deserve this?  Do you know what? You´re selfish really! Aren´t you? You´re so high-maintenance! Do you want to die! So, what? Die! Die! Die! You are demanding all the attention just to make me take notice of you. Do you? And not only do you want to draw all the attention that you spoilt my resting moment!

_ I just wanted to ask you a favour. _ He said.

    I looked at him in amazement. _ What?

_ Could you do me a favour?

_I guess. Do you want me to get out?

_ No. It´s not that. You can stay here despite not paying any attention to me. I´m a coward. You know.

_ Yes, you are.

_ I want to die. But...

_ You told me that before! But I´m afraid that you´ll be never ready to die. A person who has been a coward to live is always a coward. Do you understand? I mean, a coward to die too.

_ I´ve come across my late father´s pistol.

_ What?!

_A handgun.

   Then I was shocked again. I start stuttering something like: What? What do, do, you mean?

_ Would you shoot that gun for me to help to take my life out?

_ No! But! You have found a real gun? Have you?  You have a weapon in your power. Tell me this is not a nightmare! I´m not dreaming? Am I?

_ Yes. Look.

  At that moment, I see him opening a little box. Well, in fact, I see two little heavy boxes, one on each hand of him; a flat one and a taller one in the shape of a cube. Maybe you won´t believe me, but this happened for real.

  Then he puts the boxes on the garden table, opens the flat box, and shows me the pistol, an antique one from the Civil War period, or maybe older.

_ During the Revolution of Asturias my father was a doctor there, and he was recommended to carry one of these.

   Then I burst into laughter hysterically_ No! I´m not going to shoot that. Believe me, I´d kill you just now.... But.

_That´s what I want. _ Interrupt he.

_ I´m not a fool. _ Say I_ Do you want that junky scrap to blow up my face?

   Then he opens the bigger box and tells me that there are plenty of bullets in it.

_ Keep those things away! Please. _ I went nervously gabby again_ Are you going to kill me? Are you mad?

   I was out of my wits, absolutely scared at what might have happened. I´d have killed him!

_ No_ He said. _ I wouldn´t kill a fly.  It´s you. You must kill me.

_You´re out of your mind. _ Said I whispering.  

  Then I started to talk to him as if he were a child. _ Do you want me to be sent to prison?

_ Nobody could blame you. I know it.

_ You´re talking rubbish. Besides, I can´t kill you because I love you.

_Do you?

_ Yes. I do.

   He smiled.

_ I thought you didn´t.

_ That´s not true José. You Know it. You know I love you. And you love me too. And now, you´re keeping all that stuff in a secret, safe drawer locked away, under lock and key, so that any child has an accident. Will you?  Am I clear?

_ Yes. Your commands are my wishes. _ Smiling sinfully as he was, I realized that he was waiting for a kind of reward for his obedience. I´d have killed him umpteen times.  Did I say that before? Yes, I did. That way he made me despise him even more.

   The next morning, I got up quietly. I called his mother.

   I made the end of my own struggle. Maybe, you need to get rid of someone. But if that person has a mother you don´t need to kill him.

   I know it was cruel. She didn´t know that his beloved baby son had a gum hidden somewhere. Despite he was thirty-seven he had those funny ideas, (no brainchild among them I´m afraid) about committing suicide...

_ Don´t worry. People who talk rubbish never do it. -She told me.

  I was so embarrassed

_ The gum is now...

_ In the best hands. _ She declared. _ I gave it to the police.

_ And José?

_ You know him. I´d kill him.  _ She smiled. _ Don´t worry. He´s fine. 

   I hope he´s fine. He was absolutely furious with me that afternoon, I should tell you that like he never was before. I don´t know what his mother did. Since then we have quit each other permanently; A real weight loss out off my shoulders.

   Maybe he doesn´t rest already in peace. But I do. I just think of contemplation.

Flower and Runner talk

https://1drv.ms/p/s!AqWzytLULkbagSWDa86m3Et4H4_V

Flower and Runner

   Then, at night, she whispered to Runner._ I´m serious. What were you doing with those fellows?

  _ Chatting up them. That´s what I did. But none of them can still catch up me when we run. They´re still knee-high to a grasshopper tall.

  _ And the day they catch up you what will you do?

  _ That day, when one of them catch up me I´ll kick him, the same as you do when boys want to come up you.

   Flower got quiet for a moment as she was thinking. And then she put another question to Runner.

_ Don´t you want to marry any of them?

_ Not yet. We are having fun at the moment. But maybe in a season. I might find someone special, handsome and tall. But he must run faster than me and be stronger too, you Know, He must be like that above everything else.

A bonny tale 1

https://1drv.ms/p/s!AqWzytLULkbagQfdhYGlfZrHaq_a

El viaje de tu vidahttps://onedrive.live.com/?cid=DA462ED4D2CAB3A5&id=DA462ED4D2CAB3A5%21160&parId=root&o=OneUp

Are you a television addict?

   

  No kind of addiction is a laughing matter, mainly when it comes to such serious issues as childhood obesity and adolescent rage.

   Among the increasingly numerous, modern addictions, that no one imagines, TV addiction may be seen as the softest sort of addiction when it is, in fact, due to the continuous and permanent effect we are all exposed to, one of the more dangerous if not the most (taking into account the way entirely families are all spoon-fed.)

  

   So, meanwhile our society is aware of the dangers of the internet and other dreadful social problems as drug-abuse and alcoholism, gender violence or game addiction, TV addiction is shown to the public as a minor problem, or at least as the harmless.

   But, if I had to rank addictions from less to most dangerous, the one which involves the largest number of people and affects an alarming majority of children, is this addiction which ought to be eradicated as a plague. 

  They say obesity is becoming epidemic. They say that too many weekly hours of TV processed-food ads exposition, just in meals-time, the same as in any moment, is possibly at the root of plenty of health problems. They say that according to the WHO (WORLD HEALTH ORGANIZATION) soft drinks and fast food apart from processed cereals and trans-fats are important risk factors in most of modern illnesses nowadays; meanwhile ever more consumers (not only students, working mothers as divorced and single parents do it) we all buy the cheapest, quickest food preparation displayed on the shelves at the supermarkets for our children to eat. 

   But not only the availability of low-quality of food lead people to this ( no advisable at all costume). TV is also meant to be changing meal-timetables and even table manners at home. And ever more children are going through this kind of household mess every day, and night!

   No wonder we find children who fall asleep during the lessons at school when are no diagnosed on ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder). These late years it has been found that many children are suffering an endemic lack of energy. And all of this are symptoms of sleep-deprivation.

   No. This is not a laughing matter, when even our children are sleep deprived just because the television is still switch on at nights. Or, to put it bluntly: What happens is that the parent´s favourite  tv programme is the underlying cause of a massive quantity of kids suffering either obesity or teen rage.

   Grandma would say that we must put those children to bed (on time, please). And, in fact, it has been shown that if we sleep less we have to consequently eat more if not, we will trigger our children rage in any moment, and most sadly, spoil their chance to be more healthy and happy. 

Why do rabits run?

 





    Why does the rabbit run?

   She didn´t know. But as soon as she was out of their den she had to start running, as if a dreadful strength does force her to do it, just to survive, but survive what?

   That was an instinct. They call it instinct. She liked runnig, but the scary point of this innate impulse was  fear. And as she didn´t like that feeling, or maybe she didn´t even know exactly what fear was, she used to ignore any warning.

   Flower was too young to understand that she could die. However, never too young to realized that others could be in danger.
 
  That´s why she got used to look for high mounts from the earliest age,so that she could control  the entire landscape. So, while she watched her siblins running she just developed a sense of curiosity that was beyond a rabbit´s comprehension, a dangerous costume, an improper habit for a rabbit, that many times made her mother get angry.

  Then, the whole family began to feel uneasy because of the way she acted. and to make it worse, she went on weight becoming bigger and bigger, turning her sight into a focused glance that reminded more a threatening gigantic marmot´s stare, a marmot in bunny ears which hung to hers hips  And she started to behave not like a rabbit, always in panic but a defiant wild animal, thus provoking her mother to begin raising her voice every time she poped her flaccid face out of her lair to call her, She often couldn´t go out because of her pregnancy.
   _ Flower! Time for dinner! And time to shelter down! Have you collected your siblins? Don´t you think  you´re so fat that you  seem, actualy,  the pregnant female here? Do you? Look at your sister, your following, She´s running all the time. She´s an expert. Act your age Flower, and play the role you´re taken for granted_ continued her mother once they were all packed together in the hidden den_ You seem to be a baby. What are you eating there away? Did you hide any carrot just for you, to eat it by yourself? You must share it! That´s stealing.
   _ I fetched it for myself._ She answered.
   _  It doesn´t matter! We´re a family! Are we?_ Shouted her mother.__ I´ll set an example on you for your siblings_

 Then she accused her of being selfish before the rest of her children, instead of telling them to go for carrots and observe more and run less.

   That time Flower didn´t talk back her mom. She shared her carrot after being taught that it wasn´t hers. Nothing was hers. Only a bad rabbit was allowed to think that something could be owed, accumulated, and not shared. That moment, the mother´s lesson with value, dissolved the outrageous treatment she was to suffer from then on.

Although she had not forgotten how many siblings she had, they were so many, that she did forgot who was the oldest of them, even despite of the fact that, actually,  it was she who´d been born first.

   So the more brothers and sisters were born the less she liked running, and the more she felt on duty to look after all of them.

A One-Off Travel

      My one-off travel was one long, backpaging, tour around my country. Adventurous and ramdon as it was, in my opinion it lasted too much, at least enough to taste my endurance  and make me realized that I´d raher got home. I ended up becoming a desappointed young girl just in one month, cynical and incredulous. And what was far worse is that my self-esteem went abruptly down.
    
  (to be continued)

OPENING YOUR MIND
IS LIKE
OPENING A PARACHUTE,
IS THE ONLY WAY  THAT BOTH
WORKS.....Imagine the fall.

I had another intended calling but my duty brought me to do that...

   This morning  when I was cleaning the gim toilets I would have started to write instead. So perceptive and discerning  is usually my mind at that time of the day that I fail to understand what I am doing cleaning latrines when I could do anything exciting as well as anything else instead. However, here I am,  becoming myself obsessive about those nasty sticky hairs which I must remove from all kind of white and gloss porcelain, that is the material most of the lavatories are made of. They use to stick, these hateful hairs, mainly to my cleaning cloth so that when I manage to fish them out from the washbasin I end up sticking them to the toilet bowl rim.
   This morning I found a rough hair. it was thick and black. I wonder what part of the human body could that hair belongs, because, seemingly, it was not human. Most of the hairs you find adhered to different loos are from the pubis. That hair I found this morning I might swear it was a boar hair, because human pubis hair are curly, I think.

Sisterhood of motherhood

     Psicoprofilaxis Montaña y sus ridículos vídeos. Busca en youtube los vídeos de sisterhood of motherhood y luego empápate de cómo hay que llevar a una criatura como es debido.

Te felicito por no seguir la ridícula moda de poner al bebé delante, lo que te incapacita para hacer la mínima cosa. Esta es la mejor forma, la forma ancestral, para que el bebé se sienta libre y como un segundo y continuo testigo de que vivir es actuar. Una madre con su hijo a la espalda es una madre dinámica. Una madre con su bebé a la espalda es un ser anulado, una mujer obnubilada por su propia maternidad. Tengo cincuenta años y acarreé a mis bebés a la espalda y sobretodo no dejé de hacer las cosas que tenía que hacer en casa con la disculpa de que tenía al bebé al brazo. En un a época en que ya nadie llevaba a sus hijos en contacto con su cuerpo me tomaban un poco de chiflada. Sin embargo, el resultado ha sido muy bueno. Tengo un hijo de 29 y una hija de 27, muy distintos los dos; pero si algo tienen en común es su energía. Los dos son sociables , dinámicos y trabajadores.
 
Se pone de moda otra vez acarrear a los infantes, y el contacto cuerpo a cuerpo con el bebé. Pero en algo tenemos que diferenciarnos las sociedades modernas y tecnológicas de las supuestamente atrasadas.

A lo visto parece que está prohibido hacer otra cosa que no sea adorar al pequeñajo mientras acarreas a tu hijo por delante. ¿Quién friega entonces los platos y tiende la ropa? o ¿coje las bolsas de la compra?

Toda la vida y en todas las sociedades, las madres comunes han seguido trabajando mientras llevaban a sus hijos con ellas. Ahora cualquier individua tomada al azar entre esta nueva ornada de madres, en una sociedad envejecida en la que escasean los niños, parece como ya he dicho antes, obnubilada por su propia maternidad.
Aparece entonces la madre protagonista y egocéntrica, más de lo que lo hayan podido ser otras madres en la historia. Conocemos incluso los tristes ejemplos de LA NUEVA MADRE EMPERATRIZ , la que pretende tiranizar a toda la familia, abuelas, abuelos, hermanos, cuñadas, y todo tonto que se preste, e imponer sus propias normas, con el cuento de que ellas son madres.

   Y, a toda esta nueva generación, la de los selfies con niñita incluida la denominaría como La Nueva Generación De Madres Subidas Con Bebé e Hijos Futuras Promesas a Seres Repelentes.

   Ni que el mundo acabara de empezar con ellas. Pobres, pobres criaturas....

Driving drowsy....Chapter four.

   The normal thing to happen was having an accident, and that´s what we had: an unavoidable accident. And considering that we were under such many stupid circumstances, I am still wondering what was the variable which made us survive the crash. Was that a miracle? 
  

   The car slid suddenly out the road and we fell into void just in one second. I did not realized what had happen. Luis question was: "Where´s the bridge?". I did even shout till another second later when, out of a clear sky, I noticed that water was entering the car. Then I yelled in panic, and I called my mother. I just started calling my mother out, absolutely terrified, trying to get out of there, pushing the stuck doors, trembling in terror, fingering  on the jammed handles. And the water kept coming in, filling the inside of the car, as it was a bathtub or something worse as a sunk car on the bottom of a river somewhere.

    _ Are you alive?! Are you alive?_ I asked out to my co-travellers._ Then they whispered_ We´re fine._ It doesn´t matter any more!_ I told them back._  We´re going to die! No! I didn´t want to die!_ I cried, and kept crying_ I can´t open the doors! Joachim! I can´t!

   Then I saw Joachim passing above Luis. His side door was stuck too. He tried to open that door, the driver side door. We were wheels up. Any of the windscreens had been broken. Then he got it! He hit the door, and opening it a cold draft aired into the car.

   The dog got out, and I followed the dog. I could pass behind the driver sit and reach the exit. Joachim was not outside. Luis was caught. The steering wheel against his breastbone kept him against the backrest. 

   As soon as I was out I stood up on the big flat river stones settled down in the middle of the riverbed and I looked at the stream running down both sides and above them, soaking my shoes . I am a good swimmer; but I am not very sure if I would have been able to saved my life just swimming wrapped in a long black skirt overalls made of corduroy, swimming down and against the freezing stream. If we had fallen into a deep river pool we three would have drowned. Thanks goodness , we were not in the bottom. Then I Looked up. I saw the moon glittering through the passing gray clouds. Then I looked back to the car. And I saw poor Luis trapped. The water was reaching his waist. Then I saw Joachim getting out of the car. I could see him very clearly because of his white shirt and his white trousers. He was glowing under the moonlight as a lost glum angel, pacing up and down, wandering among the stones, as he was looking for something. I noticed a weird quirky behaviour in him.

_ What are you doing?_ I asked him.

_ I need a stone to break the steer wheel. We had to break him free from that trap.

   Then he kneed down and took a medium-size stone.

_ That´s impossible. We have to climb the ravine up instead. We have to look for help. We need to go out of here._ I said. He did not listen to me. I saw Luis. He was conscious but likely to be seriously injured. His brown black face was fading. I had got to go. The dog was sniffing around the water to find a safe path to cross out the stream. I followed it so that not to fall into a river pool.

   When I reached the river side I started to climb up clutching bushes and blackberries. I remember that despite the undergrowth prickles and thorns my fingers did not hurt because they were frozen and insensitive.  

   I had to climb the steep rocky wall, a face cliff which holded ice and snow,and at least forty metres up to get out of there. 
   Finally, when I reached the end, and I felt safe, I looked back. Down was pitch dark. I could just listen to the sound of water running peacefully. Then I called out Joachim. No one answered.   

  

DRIVING DROWSY- Passing by Riaño before It was destroyed.

   Look at this video. This place was known as the Spanish Switzerland once. I was reborn in this sacred place that time, when Riaño neighbours had already started their fight for saving their homes and land. President Felipe González was empowered those years to have stopped such a environmental devastation. He did not. He and his rich friends were too much interested in the real estate speculation. 

CHAPTER III

      The dog was sit down on my feet warming my legs.I did not want to cast a gloom over us. I only cast the last look through the door glass while laying absolutely hopeless my body back along the seats. Then I saw like a kind of huge very tall ghosts emerging outside. Dozens of clear grey slender spectres stretching their threatening arms around an old little defenseless car and our poor lives inside with.

   _ What´s that?_ I exclaimed in terror pointing to the phantoms.
   _ Do you mean that?_ It was Joachim answering._ Look at that Luis. Castile and Lion on their knees bow to Asturias summits, the Spain´s cradle.
   So complicated was his answer, just to mean that those phantasmagorical visions were The Peaks of Europe, the most famous mountain chain of the North of Spain, that I think it was so long explanations of him, or perhaps the joints smoke making the air stuffy, and surprisingly the place cosy, what made me fell half asleep. Imagine that majestic far sight in the death of the night. The only thing that was possible to see was the faint snow laid on the hills slopes. If I had made Luis to stop to get out of the car, wherever we were, where could I have gone to shelter on my own?

DRIVING DROWSY. Second part.

CHAPTER TWO

   I think I fell into a light sleep. I wish I slept deeply any time.
They were talking all the way, I was laid down quiet behind. I recall a faithful dog dozing between the two seat ranks. It was Luis´s dog, Joachim´s Argentinian friend, a medium-sized, light red-haired dog, I felt relieved because of this unexpected guardian,
   Then I listened to Joachim announcing that we were passing by Leon. I had to imagine its famous cathedral. When opening my eyes I sat up a little to stretched my neck out to look up through the windows, at both sides. I could not see any thing. It was pitch dark.

   Joachim was very talkative. And Luis took for granted that the interesting conversation would help to keep him awake and fresh.

   Then he asked Joakim to roll a joint to him. It was later than two in the morning. I sat up forward to look at him in amazement. I noticed then that his eyes were coming red in the middle of his brown-green face and that its skin was likely to be plenty of tattoos because that area of skin he had uncovered was black and blue. Then I realized that I should not have never trusted a single man of more than thirty-two who was a mix between a rastafarian and a yogi. A man who had dared pop up once, years before that moment, out of the sea, wearing a red brazilian tanga before my very eyes. Such a nasty loincloth, in a european beach, had never been seen before, by me and any of my eyes with in any case.  
   Now is time to me to say the truth. I must be honest. It had been me who introduced Luis to Joachim. Although I had never smoked weed in my life I must be naturally bound for disgrace and  misery any way. I have to confess I knew him.  He was the kind of man that had traveled around the world, with no other tool than a wide white grin, from India to new Zealand, from Brazil to California, from Russia to Iraq, speaking English, just three words. ¨You´re my brother.¨ Just all or very little more maybe. He had worked as a cowboy in Brazil and California. Then he won enough money to travel through India. There, in Goa he had been a beggar, The following year he had learned the pure tattoos technique from Maoris in Northland. Luis had survived poverty, famine, illness, even bad companions, just by casting this spell on people ¨peace brother¨. But despite being in awe of him I was with eyes wide open too. And in that moment I remember wondering if he would be going to, be able too, to survive the eventual car accident we three were about to suffer.

 _ May I inquire both of you what money did you paid for that shit with? _ I said._ Didn´t you said that we had no money left to change the back wheel tyres too?_ I asked.
_ Don´t worry. Be happy._ That was Luis answer.
   He had that sense of music and life together. He had learned to speak English by learning some rastafarian songs by heart.

   Then Joachim asked me not to disturb them with bad energies while starting to roll another joint, this time for him to smoke.

Very, very interesting and out-of-the wall.

DRIVING DROWSY

Chapter one


      Shoot that question to Mercedes. Why did she decide that Joachim was the man of her life, the chosen one? I Did otherwise. I would not have chosen such a man in my life. However, he might have chosen me. I did not even know  Mercedes. Between she and I, why did he choose me? Did he want to ruin my life?
   I have many questions, myself. But, to be honest, it was love at first sight. I remember thinking that I had not seen him before. He was twenty-five years old, I was twenty-one.  He was drop-dead gorgeous. And I was...Well, I think I was pretty. Anyway, among my worries and priorities that has never been one. But he was good-looking, so handsome that none of my friends and mainly, neither of my sisters, could understand why Joachim and I, we were together.
   _ You don´t match at all._ That is what I was said on and on, and when I put the question ´Why?´
 the answer was as silly as that he was much more handsome and cool than I was, and I am.

   Although I had had apprehensions the very moment we met, maybe that stupid reason, that I did not seem as cool as him, was what made me take the plunge and marry him.

  Once that we were married to each other,  he introduced me to Mercedes and I found out that she had been his girlfriend for almost seven years.

  Then he told me more. When he had met Mercedes he was already a divorced man.
How could have imagined such a man in my life?

   I had never been very good at maths. But I remember doing my sums and I said to myself that if he was 25 at that moment that meant that he had been 19 when he met Mercedes and both went to live together. And that if he had been married before for two years to another woman ( that was Oleina) that meant that he had got married when he was merely seventeen!

   When I discovered my husband past life it was too late. He lived so quickly that the day after having met Mercedes for the  first time, I knew I was pregnant.

   Then he started to borrow money from Mercedes. We had already wasted all my money, that money I had earned selling my paintings during the summer. But meanwhile I was preparing another exhibition, we had run out of money. He was jobless. Why was he not seeking a job ? That was my wonder.

  Then we decided to go to Asturias from Madrid. He wanted to introduce me to his family.
   It was a kind of relief to hear that he had an old cabin there, in Asturias, and a little field to grow vegetables...Why not?  I remember saying to myself that we could perfectly scrape together enough money to live, by returning to a cheeper lifestyle in the countryside. I would keep on painting and he would work as a farmer. But, all our planes were no more than a sort of short bucolic dream, so brief it was.


   It was then the last week of november. It was very cold in Madrid. We got a pre owned car, not a luxury one, in fact it was quite old. I did not trust that such a rosty bargain could go very far away. By then, I had never had a car in my life, neither now. Any way, Joachim could not drive, neither did I. But we were quite lucky when the friend who Joachim had bought the car from,  offered to carry us to Asturias. Then, as soon as we were setting off, we had to stop in a petrol station, in the pass of Navacerrada, to get the car wheel tyres changed. Besides, we had no a single spare wheel in the boot to replace. We had to buy it. Then we could afford buying a new pair of front wheel tyres but the back ones. On the pass of Navacerrada snow was in the air. I remember thinking that we should have taken a train.

   I also remember saying to myself that I should have taken, too, notice of my apprehensions four months before that moment. But, on the other hand, the wind was blowing ice-cold so, unless I had chosen going frost to die, I got in the car and laid on the back seats. I felt so tired.

Listening to Sir Ken Robinson...

MULTITASKING WOMEN WANTED
____________________________________wHAT?


 Is that crazy crazy idea, stupid bulshit, something  that just can lead a woman to develop alzheimer ,  is it already the buzz word de jour?

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO0000000000000000000ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!

  I am a woman. Sadly for many people, I have never been a "multitasking being" (I insist that can´t be human). And I wouldn´t like to be like that. That is a urban legend, a woman dreamed by men. Although, perhaps some women want to be  a perfect woman who ´d sum up all the best in herself. Maybe Ken´s wife is of that sort, but she seems to me a poor exploited woman, far worse, even proud of it. 

  I am not like her surely. I raised two children on my own. Besides, I was able to care for nieces and nephews, and other relatives more than I´d have wanted.

 On the other hand, I´ve been an artist all my life. I ´ve painted more than 500 canvas, I play the guitar and the piano, I am an humble composer and an humble author too, writing in Spanish better than in English, of course. Meanwhile, I had to scratch a living looking after elderly people for twenty years, and working at my vegetable garden, digging included, was the more relaxing activity I´d  often practise. As a result, I am absolutely worn out, now that I´m fifty years old and look like ten years older, and nobody likes me. 

  When I was asked the next question: that  how I managed to do all that I did, I used to answer that there´s time to many, many things when you have no man to make you waste your time. 

  Imagine if I´ve used all the time I´ve had in my life just to create....That  has been my dream. I suppose I wouldn´t be a complete unknown by now.
  
 Sorry if I seem so self-important, so self-sufficient and self-conceited. If I were a man I´m sure that I´d be a good stand-up comedian too. I am still a sort of such a praise needy...