Vignettes
Something new
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→: A Touch of Whimsy
The trash cans peppered around our district parks and streets recently started sporting Barbie-pink trash bags. My daughter loves them and, I admit, they do offer a splash of color…
La Cordillera
East to the Cordillera
In Santiago the cordillera stands sentinel to the rising sun. It is the city’s north star and here I learned to take and give directions by the cardinal points…five blocks east… on the north side…al oriente … al poniente.
Gift Horse
Next year I turn 50. In a series of strange and fortunate events, I was gifted an Arabian chestnut mare. Her name is Faraz, which my brother facetiously mispronounces “Fat-ass”. Her teeth are brown-yellow, but please recall what it is we don’t do with gift horses. We’ve galloped the Santiago foothills in all colors – spring-green flecked with red añañucas, summer-gold dotted with purple azulillos, autumn-dusty tans and browns. She is my passport back to childhood dreams.
And then there were five…
Last year, we came across a pair of burrowing owls in the foothills. Pequen are diurnal, long-legged, and nest in abandoned rabbit warrens. I’ve never heard a “who whooo” when one couldn’t warn me away with an earsplitting screech. It was early evening and we were out on our horses. Lira, the saluki dog, ran ahead, leaping with gazelle-like grace through the low grass and brush. A shriek! Then another! And another as an angry owl dive-bombed the dog, pushing her back in our direction. For the next few months, I made it a habit to ride by at a respectful distance, each time taking a count. And then one day there were five
Mi casa
A blessing or a curse?
My (fairy god?) mother once proclaimed, “There are so many better things to do than clean“. Did she free me to heed the call of pen, paper, horses, mountains or curse me to live forever amidst the dust?
Silvia the spider
At dinner we see her. Long-legged shadow. Dining room ceiling, right corner. I don’t have the heart to squash her into oblivion. We name her Silvia. Later we see her in the left corner. And then she is gone. I’m afraid I don’t know where.
Oh, the garden
Nettled
The stinging nettle is a springtime plague. It rises unbidden in flower pots, between bricks, and from what was surely a barren patch of dirt. It’s prickle-haired stalks and leaves are disdained and side-eyed. And truly, this is a plant to beware – neither the ‘stinging’ nor the ‘nettle’ are unwarranted. But once upon a long time ago, at an expensive Italian restaurant on Alonso de Cordova, I ordered órtiga-filled ravioli. Since then I lie in wait for the springs rains, with scissors and gloves and garlic and olive oil close at hand. This is a high-end weed.
Apricot Popcorn
The apricot tree dominates the patio and marks the passing of the seasons. It is August and yesterday’s winter-bare branches now flaunt thousands of pink-tipped buds. Tomorrow each bud will begin to pop into a pale white flower with butter-yellow stamen. I’ll eat them all, I will! But not until December.
Forbidden Fruit-of-the-loom
The spring sun is ablaze after weeks of grey skies and intermittent rain. It’s a perfect day for hanging out laundry. Bed sheets are swaying on the line and socks and undies are carefully arranged on the laundry rack. Leia, the golden retriever, knows that hanging clothes are off limits but anything on the ground is fair play. She casually wanders by the rack and gives it a sharp nudge. She has developed a taste for men’s black underwear. Forbidden fruit.
In the barrio
Bilingual Burglars Beware
I’m jolted awake at 4:30 am. Caution! You are under surveillance! The steady thrum of rain against the pavement. Caution! You are under surveillance. The neighbor’s poorly calibrated security system screeches its cautionary message – in English – into the Santiago pre-dawn, keeping us safe from marauding cats (presumably bilingual?), passing vehicles, and now, apparently, heavy rain.
OUt and About
Micro Music
It’s a grey-ugly micro ride from Metro Irarrazaval up Avenida Grecia. Autumn-early which means the few trees we pass are a sickly brown, branches loosening their hold on the last leaves. Grey buildings, grey streets, grey skies – the mountains barely visible through the omnipresent (grey) smog. There are no free seats and I’m tucked up against a metal handrail. The back doors of the bus open and a puffy-eyed young man hauls in his portable speaker. I close my eyes briefly and stifle a groan at the inevitable torture. And then there are literal tears in my eyes as this boy sings Ana Torroja’s Hijo de la Luna. I pass him a thousand pesos and his eyes light up. He tells me his name is Lalo. I tell him I love that song and his voice is beautiful. And when I look out the bus windows again, the sky looks a little more blue.
About
About Santiago Vignettes
Life isn’t always a dazzling adventure, but there is magic to be found in the mundane.
Santiago vignettes is a little bit about Santiago – after all, it’s where I’ve lived for the past 26 years – but it’s mostly about the moments of wonder, curiosity, and humor to be found in the day-to-day.
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Occasional new vignettes, directly from Santiago.
