Sour and sweet

You see a lot more elderly people on the street here than you do in the U.S. I think it's a combination of Spain's aging population and the fact that apartments here tend to be small and without air conditioning, so visiting rarely takes place at home.

Yesterday, we were walking to the store behind two classic older Spanish ladies--short, plump, dyed and dressed with great care, and talking a mile a minute in loud voices with gesticulations to match. As we waited at a curb for a light to change, a car drove by rather quickly in front of us all. The fact that this car was going through a completely green light did nothing to lessen these ladies' outrage, which they shared with passion (again, voiced and gestured) before crossing through a red light themselves. As we continued on--now at some distance having waited for the green light--I heard them in voices loud enough that the square could hear explain the causes of their respective bellies and lament the various ills that had befallen them during the day.

On our way back, around 9pm, everyone over 65 was sitting on the benches that line the street, visiting. We passed several passionate conversations until we reached one couple who had stopped beside a vacant lot where beautiful purple flowers grow. The wife stood at the helm of a wheelchair temporarily vacated itself, while its former occupant, her husband, balanced on his own feet long enough to pick her a bouquet of the flowers. He could only manage a few at a time, so she held the partially gathered blooms in her left hand against the wheelchair handle as he stooped by her side and they moved in slow motion together down the field.

I've always loved sweet and sour combinations.