Chapter 16: Knowledge Gained and an Early Sense of Loss

From mid-April through late July, online Spanish classes with Irene were the organizing principle of our lives. And despite the COVID lockdown, our class materials and exercises were giving us valuable first-hand insights into Spanish culture and priorities. Years ago I’d read James Michener’s Iberia and wondered whether he was exaggerating in calling Spain “a place where picnics are a way of life.” What about all of those paseos and hikes to get to the picnics, from the Camino de Santiago to more secular journeys — is that really a thing? In more recent years, Kate and I had watched Chef José Andrés’s Made in Spain cooking shows, enjoyed sublime meals while traveling in Spain, and started collecting Spanish cookbooks, but do exceptional ingredients and skillful cooking really extend to the day-to-day? Yes, and yes.

In thirteen weeks of classes, we easily spent half the time on the vocabulary, verb constructions, and related grammar to gain proficiency in discussing where and how to do food shopping (“hacer la compra” OR “hacer las compras”); how to properly identify meats, poultry, fish, fruits, vegetables, and grains (and how to measure them); what to call kitchen appliances and tools; and how to describe the various cooking techniques. (in the familiar imperative). We also learned the words for the six (SIX!) meals or snacks a day in Spain AND the verbs that go along with “doing” them.

Because keeping the mind and body balanced is important, we learned how to interact with the shopkeepers and navigate the aisles in the “herbolarios” that are as ubiquitous on the streets of Madrid as banks and drugstores are in Manhattan. We also learned all of the variants of “to walk” — from going for a stroll, meandering in circles, going for a regularly-paced walk to going for a fast walk. We moved on to describing a variety of sports, “doing” yoga, and “maintaining” the various parts of one’s body. We learned how to describe hiking and the gear that goes with it, as well as how to describe scenes of the countryside and the perfect place for, yes, a picnic. We learned that “tienda de campaña” is not in fact a camping store but rather a tent. And our profesora, Irene, made it all fun.

Speaking for myself, however, “learned” is not entirely accurate. We were taught.

One of my many challenges was that I had not “overlearned” the basics, not even my ABCs and numbers. This meant that finding comfortable harbors in which to rest my brain, such as having an ample supply of second-nature word constructions, were few and far between. But I gamely tried my best to keep up in class, often cramming in basics during the day before that evening’s session. While I never wanted to slow the class down, I had an insatiable number of questions and often raised my voice in excitement. Kate suggested that I tape the words “keep voice down” and “hold that thought” to my computer monitor. I obliged, with limited success.

When I could help others, I was a little too pleased with myself. One day, the class was confounded by the reflexive verbs “sentirse,” which means to feel, and “sentarse,” which means to sit. The verbs are conjugated identically in the first-person singular and we were endlessly mixing them up. I volunteered that we could remember sentarse is “to sit” because the “arse” is right there. Teacher and classmates approved. I felt a surge of pride but glanced at myself on the Zoom screen to make sure I wasn’t showing it. Kate said I had had only limited success in that regard too.

My memory tricks turned solipsistic, juvenile, revelatory, or even mean. I remembered that “despertarse” is to wake up because I am desperate for coffee when I wake up. I remembered “bata” is a lab coat because 1970s Bata tennis shoes were white. I remembered “lata” is a can because of the abomination of Starbucks lattes in a can. To remember that “fondo” is bottom, I thought of peering into a fondue pot. To remember that “cartel” is a poster, I thought of a WANTED poster of Pablo Escobar. During a practice session, I told Kate that she could remember “acostarse” is to lie down because Bob Costas was lying down for each of his plastic surgeries. She just stared at me and said, “Next!”

One day, when our teacher Irene unexpectedly announced that she was leaving for a new job, we got teary-eyed. We were not ready to leave the nest. I was never a teacher’s pet (see next chapter), but Irene moved me to do something the next morning that was completely out of character. I woke up at 5 a.m. very alert — no despertarse coffee needed — and tiptoed out of the bedroom so as not to wake Kate. In the dark living room, on my phone’s memo app, I tapped out a lyric poem in Spanish for Irene. Although titled !Pregúntame! (Ask me!), a nod to Recuérdame, the theme song from the movie Coco, this was not an effort to roast or joke or lend obligatory tribute. My love for this teacher poured out of my heart onto the page without a drop of irony or splotch of snark. When I read it to Kate, she wept. She was as surprised at me as I was at myself. Spain was changing me.

But there would be many more tears to come — and soon.

©2021 Kay Diaz