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Tivoli Park
Phones stayed, uncharacteristically for that evening’s banker set, in purse and pocket. We had wine and peanuts and it was a Friday night, all of us 30-somethings. We had a low-volume playlist in the background. Did you see what happened? Conversation went, naturally, to the latest in local corruption. I had nothing to say, and…
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View from a Folding Fixed-Lens Camera
I suppose I hadn’t given birth certificates very much thought. Until now, mine has come into play in mostly unremarkable ways. France seems to have taken the biggest interest in my birth certificate, requiring a certified, translated copy of the original for the stuff of everyday life. Think job applications, apartment rentals, direct-debits and first…
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Notes from Transit
Did you know that Madrid is a desert-city? It is landlocked atop a plateau (this makes me nervous, like being in a crowded concert hall without an emergency exit). Inside the airport, it swelters. The city is profoundly European, and so it is sparse with air conditioning. I run my carry-on through the security belt.…
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Living Directive
I recently drafted a will, and a living directive. For all the other childless 32-year-olds out there, please do not judge. (I promise I can be fun.) I’m aware it is peculiar to be the type of person who even cares to get this done — a will, I mean. Statistically there should be no…
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Villano Perfecto
It’s one of the difficult realizations of adult life, that the good comes mixed in with the bad, the bad with a facet of good (No hay villano perfecto). You learn it quickly as an expat. Living “abroad” is a life situation that enhances pleasure and displeasure, the way that heat intensifies smells. These heightened…
