XXXL

I was right to think that coming to work last Monday was a mistake. As soon as I was on the train to Mollett, the new snow was scurrying, accumulating. So, I waited at the school, Idiomas Mollet, for my 1 hr conversation class students, who didn't arrive, then the teens who come at 6 didn't come..So, I used the time to be paid for coming in and worked on my blog...but as 610 pm approached, and I realized my students couldn't, wouldn't come to class because of the snow, I reasoned that I shouldn't wouldn't stay here in Mollet because to stay there would be to be stuck there..snow-stranded. I waded over slush and snow banks in inept sneakers and saw an unpromising crowd of grim Catalonians, black-coated carrying para-aguas (umbrellas, literally translated "rain stoppers"). The trains were frozen in their tracks..no more runs for the night..marooned in Mollett.
After a moment's whimpering, I returned to the school, where 3 children talked loudly in front of a TV and 2 English teachers corrected tests. My wet feet were numbing, I nervously munched away on a bag of rice cakes, as the teachers and a woman who apparently signs my checks created a crack team to determine what to do with me. Ummmm, taking a taxi is not possible, it costs 100 Euros and you would be stuck in traffic for hours...I see, munch, munch, munch.... Don't worry, you won't sleep at the school..thank you, munch, munch, munch...there may be a bus....Let me look....Do you have any friends who can pick you up?...None of them have a car, munch, munch, munch....it seems that she is prepared to give you 40 Euros, you can stay at a hotel for the night...I would do this if I were you, it is the best option..Let her arrange it, then one of us will walk you there...
I went back up to the teacher's room to troll the internet and consider what a motel in the rubbly town would be like, something told me it would have a Reno-ian style...orange carpeting and deeply embedded cigarette odor.
"Natanya!" Lidia, curly-haired, round receptionist peered into the workroom.
"Tengo un habitacion libre. " ( I have a free room). Lidia, told me the free room was in her parent's house where she lived with her parents, her grandmother, and her 15-yr-old dog. But, I have a free room.
Excelente! Gracias! Venga!
We left. Lidia, Sonia (an English teacher from Mollett), my "boss" (Whose name I still don't know), and another English teacher who brokenly told me about her trips to Nueva York in English, as I brokenly told her what I loved about Nueva York in Spanish: Each of us trying to get our non-native language practice in. We delicately stepped over ice puddles, and mentioned how cold it was during awkward breaks in conversations about how it hasn't snowed in Barcelona in 20 yrs. Then we parted, and Lidia brought me to the gray block, alongside the gray cobbled walkways that was her family's house.
Lidia's mother, expectantly opened the door, in her red, pilly sweatshirt, with an aproned koala bear on the left breast, and urged me to get out of my cold shoes, wet pants, and hat. She touched my hands and shoes and commented on how cold I was. Then invited me into her bedroom, and pulled from the vast wooden armoire turquoise velour pajamas, wedge slippers, and a pink housecoat adorned with bows and a tag on the inside: xxxl. You may have to pull the drawstring on the pants, we are big people. She chuckled. 3 enormous wooden butterflies hung on the wall above the parents' bed. Then I was pointed into the habitacion libre. Lidia's brother's old room, that was now a painting studio for Lidia's mother. Vivid brown and turquoise reproductions from photos of the old west, Costa Brava townships, and Matisse-style abstracts..OOh! That is Matisse? ...Who? They're very good! Nooo! Lidia makes some too! They're great! I especially love this one! I pointed to what looked like Cadaques, the town I'd visited in November with Sinead from Ireland. Ohhh!
Now do "tu mismo". They left me in the room, to do as I would normally do on my own. I was changing into a 65 year-old's pyjamas and house coat at 7:30 on a Monday evening under the watchful eye of a wooden bust of Mary, eyes downward, hands praying.
By 745 I was in the family room, sitting in the floral-print"guest chair" watching a Game show that was a blend of deal or no deal and the price is right, drinking a dollop of tea in a bowl-sized mug and avoiding the jaws of the stool size family dog, which were safely guarded within a lamp shade. At intervals, while watching TV with Lidia and her mother, I would hear shouts coming from another room. As best I understood, Lidia's father suffers from schizophrenia, or post traumatic stress disorder. He begins shouting, "Si Senor!" and counting from his back room. Lidia and her mother tell me not to worry about it, to go check my email in Lidia's room. I do, and soon Abuela comes to say hello, calls me guapa, pinches my hands as I stand to greet her...shorter and round, with a storybook face like Strega Nona, the children's book character with the endless pasta pot. At 945 dinner preparation begins. the table in the TV room is pulled out to the center of the room, a floral table cloth and place settings are put out for the "children" (Lidia and I), and Abuelita, of course.
Do you like fish? Is there anything you don't eat?
I'll love whatever your making.
Mother pours nearly half a bottle of olive oil into a massive sautee pan.. By 10 pm I am excavating a massive cut of fish from its deep-fried shell and nibbling bacon-laden peas.
Us girls have the crispy fish, while Abuelita, sitting across from me, quietly pares down her pork cutlets. The news comes on...Don't worry, there will be sun tomorrow. I'll wake you up at 7:30.
Strawberries follow dinner. Then mother hopes I don't mind as she re-prepares the table for she and her husband to have their 11 pm dinner.
Abuelita rises, farts, and says goodnight to everyone...ooooh, guapa...she pinches my hands
Lidia soon follows and promises to wake me, as her parents settle in to eating dinner. I grab a spanish entertainment magazine and head for the brother's room. Thank you thank you..buen provecha..good night! Reading about Brad visiting Angelina, in Paris, in Spanish, I immediately sleep in the most comfortable Spanish bed I've known..A twin-size bed in her 27-year-old brother's room. Mary's wooden bust reminds me where I am in the morning.