Last Sunday my Señora’s son and his girlfriend came over for lunch. My Señora was in the kitchen furiously cooking up a storm, and I asked if I could help her with anything, expecting her to decline as usual. This time however, she actually took me up on it, saying that I could set the table, cut the bread, and ration out the picos (little breadsticks). While this may seem like an every day chore, this is a huge deal. Señoras never allow their students to do any work. To me, this was another sign that I had become her adoptive daughter. I smiled to myself as she made pork while I cut bread in the tiny kitchen, listening to her telling me the best way to cook pork (she has slowly been telling me her recipes), passing her recipes and traditions onto the closest thing she has to daughter: me.
On Monday evening I came home to a house reeking of beer. I quickly discovered why as I walked into the kitchen to give my usual greeting. My Señora was holding a spray bottle filled with Cruzcampo beer, watering her plants with it. She told me that her cousin had insulted the leaves of her plants (quite a large insult for my Señora) and that she was hoping the beer would make the leaves shinier. As she told me, all the plants needed were tapas and they would be set for the night.
The other evening my Señora came into my room with a book of 250 jokes, telling me that I should read them as study breaks. This is a result of her trying to tell us a joke and completely failing, at which point we got into a long conversation about “The Art of Joke-Telling”.
This past Saturday afternoon, I peeked my head into the kitchen to tell my Señora that I was running out to run a quick errand. She then asked me if I would do her a favor: run to the panadería (tiny bread store) she goes to every day (right around the corner from my apartment) to buy 3 loaves of bread and 12 eggs. She was asking me to go because she wouldn’t have time to do her hair before it closed (she has to look perfect to leave the house, even if it is a 2 minute walk). Once again, this may seem like nothing to all of you, but this is a big deal in the life of a student living with a Señora, aware of Spanish norms, and it signifies that she no longer considers me just a student and is not worried about inconveniencing me. I had to smile to myself because just that morning as I was out and about I saw a little girl coming back from the panadería and I was thinking how nice it would be to just go to the corner bread store and get your bread every morning. I went to our bread store, and ordered my Señora’s usual, feeling like a Spaniard, and thinking that I really don’t think I will be able to leave.
Saturday evening, my roommate Emma, my Señora and myself enjoyed a great dinner, discussing everything under the sun (including my Señora’s hilarious storytelling of how annoying mosquitoes are). After dinner, Emma and I went out onto our beautiful terrace to enjoy the magnificent evening weather and do homework, while my Señora sat in the salon sewing the aprons she will be giving to our Moms. She left the patio door open so that we could watch the talent-challenge show that was on TV, and at times we would all run into the salon to see what crazy talent (including someone stripping a woman’s clothes using a piece of heavy construction equipment) was being shown at the moment. We stayed until the wee hours of the night, enjoying each other’s company in silence. It is moments like those that I realize that I truly do have another family here, no matter how odd it may be, consisting of my Señora, my roommate, her sons and their girlfriends. I can’t explain how hard it is going to be to leave that family, and the pit in my stomach grows larger and larger as the day I leave comes closer and closer.
This Sunday was Mother’s Day here in Spain, and my roommate and I went out and bought a vase full of flowers for my Señora. The look of excitement and happiness on her face when we gave it to her, and the kisses she planted on our cheeks, were well worth the expense.
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