Tag Archives: Mario

Sí, Quiero—The Spanish Version of “I Do”

Fueron felices y comieron perdices.

As I wrote previously, planning for my wedding here in Spain wasn’t always enjoyable. But July 7, 2012, was the best day of my life. It started at 8 a.m., in a hotel with my mother: showers, breakfast, and jittery nerves. Next came the hairdresser.

The before short

Next, at 10:30, came the makeup. I’m not really a makeup person, if one can be a makeup person, but I left satisfied, even if I seemed odd to myself (“me extrañaba”). After that, it was back to the hotel to get dressed and try to calm down before leaving for the church. I had a very special ride.

The people loved it

Mario hung around and greeted the guests before I arrived

Dad helping me out of the car

In Spain, the bride can be seen by the guests before the wedding (traditionally), if not the groom. Mario was quickly ushered inside before this moment.

Happy to see Mario at the end of the aisle

Photo credit: José Antonio Fernández Sánchez, Mario’s cousin

Photo credit: José Antonio Fernández Sánchez

Tables were arranged by state names. We were Indiana, of course.

Guests were wearing red bandannas for San Fermín.

Our families at our table, fit for kings

Giving the boquet to Colleen, my future sister(-in-law), who’s getting married in September to my brother, Seth

Parents learning how Spaniards dance

Shouting so he can hear me

Favorite picture!

Dad and daughter, end of the night

I keep looking back on that day, that whole week, as this magical moment, a moment that turned out more perfect than I could have hoped for. I feel so lucky to have these people in my lives, people that will scream, “¡Vivan los novios!” and “¡Que se besen!” until they’re hoarse, people who will dance for hours with you, people who will make you videos with hilarious childhood photos set to the tunes of Que viva España and Born in the USA, who will take enough photos of you to make you swear off photos for a year, who will gift you a trip to Italy, who will accept you into their family like any other person (despite your foreignness), who will do mountains of paperwork for you while you’re on that honeymoon, who will buy you flowers and jewelry, who will cry until their eyes are dry during the ceremony, who will write special essays to read at your wedding … these people, you people if you are reading this, are the reason that day was the best day.

The honeymoon, by the way, was wonderful. And wonderfully hot. I think next time we’ll get married in September; July is way too hot.

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Just Married

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We’re leaving for Italy today, a honeymoon I’d only imagined in my dreams.

First stop: Venice

The wedding was also a dream: chaotic, beautiful, loud, and full of laughter and dancing, which are the same things, really.

Paparazzi

I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect day, a better man, a more loving family (Spanish or American).

See you after Italy! Blogging and honeymoons that involve Venice, Florence, and Rome don’t really mix …

Zamora + La Guiri

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Hello, all. I’ve taken a bit of a social media hiatus, however lame that may seem. I mean, I still got on Facebook and Twitter; I just merely glanced at them. I’ve been occupied, you see … in my adopted hometown of Zamora.

The past weekend included great lunches by Mario’s mother (the best cook in Spain, obviously), running along the Río Duero, Elías Mora wine, wedding dress shopping (!), tapas, and attending a first communion. Totally normal. (Not really. Spain, I’m back!) Spain is wonderful in May; I highly recommend it. My Zamoran abuelitos are out in full force, and it’s all I can do not to pretend to be a jounalist so I can snap their photos.

Ahh, Zamora.

My days now will be filled with running, wedding planning, great food, sunshine (I hope), tapas, cheap delicious wine, learning photography, and enjoying life with Mario to the fullest.

So Here’s the Deal

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So here’s the deal, you guys … in two days, I’m off to Spain. I know, right? What/why? it’s so confusing. It might have something to do with this guy.

He’s pretty awesome! He was hired by a sah-weet law firm, and so we’re moving to Madrid. We won’t eat hot dogs, but we will eat lots of salchichón, That’s a fact.

Right now, these are my emotions:

Excited
Nervous
Scared
Crazy

Is “crazy” an emotion? I feel it 24/7. I’m so excited to return to Spain, to marry him, to move with him to a new city (Madrid). I’m nervous to leave behind everything I know. I’m scared to spend 2+ years in Spain. I’m crazy about him. Anything else? I feel it all, la verdad.

Please let me know I’m not alone. What have you done in the name of love? How has it paid off?

Looking to the Future

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I read a lot as a child: cereal boxes, magazines meant for middle-aged women, the entire series of The Babysitters’ Club books, The Kids’ Almanac more times than I can count. I read a lot now, and since my father owns approximately a thousand biographies, I read those, too. A lot of these biographies talk about growing up in America, about the so-called “simpler times.” You know what I mean: when kids could stay out until the streetlights came on; when the general store was the only place in town to buy your flour, milk, and eggs; when Cokes cost $0.50 and came in dusty glass bottles—those sorts of times. I find them fascinating, because my life looks nothing like that and most likely never will. Those idealized times are gone. I ask myself a lot, is that type of lifestyle gone too?

In those days, there was something to be said for consistency. You might hold the same job all your life, an honorable feat, an example of your unswerving dedication to your family. You might be born, live, and die all in the same small town. Your friends you had as a child might be the same friends you had after high school, when you had kids, when you retired, when you were elderly. Those things … they were feasible then. Are they still now?

I think of my life. I grew up in a small town in Indiana, a stone’s throw from Indianapolis. I lived in the same house from age two to age eighteen. I formed friendships in grade school that carried me through my senior year of high school. We shared a bond, a consistency, that can never be replicated.

But nowadays my life seems chaotic. Since graduating high school, I’ve lived in seven different cities, sometimes on and off. (My hometown seems to be a landing spot.) Soon enough I’ll be on to the eighth. Eight cities in seven years? The same friends I had seven years ago aren’t really the same now, nor will the ones I have now necessarily be the same in a year. Because of this, sometimes I feel off-kilter, like my life is rushing by me, and there’s nothing to grab onto, nothing consistently the same year after year.

I’ve chosen a different life than most, I suppose. I sometimes forget this as I get lost in the blogosphere, where everyone seems to be like me—travelers, expatriates, transplants. But then I find myself firmly in the “real world,” and no one’s like me. Right now, back home for a month in my hometown, I can’t help but feel different. And by different I don’t mean superior, because who’s to say which way’s better? If I hadn’t met Mario, I know I wouldn’t be living by myself in Spain or any other country; I’m not as adventurous as I might seem.

I also read blogs of the people who have returned, who aren’t going back to Spain, and they talk about missing it. Perhaps they miss the no pasa nada way of life, perhaps they miss the food, perhaps they miss the sun and the paseando and the people they met who changed their lives … but they certainly miss something. And so I ask myself, How do you deal with a life full of longing for something that will never be the same, that you’ll never really have back? There’s no real good answer to that. It’s as difficult to answer as another question I frequently ask myself, How can I live a life where someone is always over there?

Mario, celebrating his graduation, without me. Right now, he’s “there.” I’m “here.”

Right now, my life is in yet another transition stage. Who knows what I’ll be thinking, feeling, doing in six months? I only know a few things for certain: we’ll be together, I’ll miss home, and the inexorable path toward the future will continue.

Guest Post: Mario

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Please welcome my second-ever guest poster, the one and only Mario. You all know about him, so there’s no need to say that much about him. I’ll let him speak for himself for once!

Kaley asked me many weeks ago to write a guest post for her blog. I don’t usually procrastinate, but somehow many weeks passed and I still hadn’t been able to find a topic that would be interesting enough for those who read her blog. I knew for sure that my topic choice would be about the USA. But what could I say about it? I know that NYC or LA are a big thing for Spaniards (Europeans in general, I would say) who want to visit the States, and I’m pretty sure there are a bazillion blogs praising the magnificent skyscrapers in Chicago or how cool San Francisco can be or how intercultural NYC is.

Suddenly, as I was watching Billy Wilder’s A Foreign Affair, I had a light-bulb moment. In the movie, Colonel Rufus J. Plummer (Millard Mitchell) mentions he comes from Indiana. That reminded me that in North by Northwest the famous plane attack against Cary Grant is on a road between Chicago and Indianapolis (although it seems to be a movie mistake), and I started to remember all the movies and TV series in which Indiana is mentioned: one of the soldiers in Band of Brothers comes from Kokomo (Floyd Talbert); the Notre Dame football team is mentioned in The Simpsons. In another category would be films about Indiana, where Hoosiers ranks number one. The name Lew Wallace probably says little to you. Maybe the film Ben-Hur sounds more familiar. Before the film, there was a book Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ, whose author, Lew Wallace, wrote part of his famous work in Crawfordsville, which happens to be in … Indiana!

Let’s face it: a European is very unlikely to cross the pond to visit Indiana, unless you are a talent scout from a basketball team and you want to find some exceptionally good players in Indiana University (Florentino, Cody Zellermust be signed by Real as soon as he graduates). You would also visit Indiana if you were my father who has always wanted to see the vast fields of crops he has seen in documentaries.

You know what? It’s a pity a European would never visit Indiana. These are my five reasons why foreigners should visit Indiana:

1. People are very nice.Okay, my view might be a bit biased, since Kaley’s family is super nice to me. Helpful people will open their hearts to you. Whenever I’ve been there, Kaley’s parents have always scheduled all kind of activities so that I could have the best taste of Indiana: Spring Mill State Park, Indianapolis Zoo, a good rib-eye steak, tailgating …. Her dad, a great sports fan, has taken me to a Cubs’ game and Indiana University basketball and football games. I had never owned the Spanish national soccer team jersey, but when Spain won their first World Cup in 2010, they gave it to me, and I will proudly wear it this year to support Spain in the Euro Cup. He also got me a Miami Dolphins’ jersey!

2. Nature. Not the scientific journal, but the green stuff. You can find it in two forms: wild and farmed. I love hiking and nature, and I think it’s a pity we don’t have more places where you can go hiking. In Indiana, in a two-hour drive you can be in a park. I have been to Brown County and Spring Mill State Parks (I was so excited to see a raccoon), but there are twenty-six more state parks remaining to be visited; there are fifteen state forests, one national forest, etc. Visit Indiana and you can enjoy them! (I sound like Leslie Knope in Parks and Recreation). Indiana, with its large extensions of crops (mainly corn and soybeans), is located within the US Corn and Grain Belts. An interesting visit would be to drive in the countryside and stop to enjoy the traditional red-painted wooden barns. Last summer I visited the farm owned by the Kaley’s brother’s fiancée’s father. Man, it was huge!

3. Good food.My brother and some friends recently returned from a trip to NYC. They all are on cloud nine but agree that the food could have been much better. American food tends to be tagged as “unhealthy” or simply “not good.” I disagree. My point is that it takes all sorts and that you have to find the right place and know what to order. When I was there and had lunch or dinner out, I only at fast food twice: once at Pizza Hut and once at Buffalo Wild Wings. I’ve been to many other restaurants, and the food has been good. I have to admit I like meat, and whenever I had the chance I ordered a burger. I was never disappointed, whereas in Spain if you order a burger, the outcome is unexpected. I can’t remember the name of that restaurant we stopped on our way back home on Black Friday, but I clearly remember telling the waiter that the burger was supreme. I still salivate thinking about the rib-eye steak at the Steak House in Covington. I have had good Mexican and Italian food. We went to a restaurant in the Amish area, and it was delicious. I have never had heartburn because of the food, and I didn’t gain weight (and—believe me—I eat a lot). Plus, in Kaley’s family there are great cooks, so when we had lunch or dinner at home, I could enjoy great meals. I was there for Thanksgiving, and I was happy because everything was delicious: the turkey, the stuffing, the cranberry sauce made from scratch. And, of course, the desserts—especially cookies. It’s true that you don’t usually find lentils or chickpeas in restaurants, but it’s not that they just have meat on the menu; they do have veggies, and they usually serve a salad as a side order.

4. WYSIWYWIF: What You See Is What You Watch In Films.This particular reason applies to all states. People in films usually live in houses with a front and/or backyard; you find that here. Yellow school buses? Check. High schools with these amazing gyms that you can’t imagine in a Spanish high school? Check. Enormous SUVs and trucks? Check. Huge Wal-Mart with long aisles with thousands of different types of cereal? Cheeeeeeeeck. A farmer wearing dungarees and a John Deere hat? Check. Amish people riding in their buggies? Check. A huge green campus? Check. A bake sale? Check. Tailgating? Check.

5. Basketball. Do you like basketball? If you are a fan of hoops, Indiana is a must—the basketball state par excellence. But forget the NBA. In the States there exists something better: college basketball. Some college kids do the required “one-and-done” to jump into the pro league. Indiana University’s philosophy is quite different: basketball players graduate, so along with their basketball experience they have a diploma, which comes handy in case you get injured and can’t keep playing basketball. Thanks to Tom Crean, the current coach, who is forging a very competitive Cream and Crimson team, Indiana basketball is back. This year they made it to The Sweet Sixteen. Next year? My bet is that they will be in the Final Four.

Visit Indiana and remember: it’s Indiana!

Happy Belated Father’s Day

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In case you didn’t know, yesterday was Father’s Day in Spain. Happy Father’s Day to all the Spanish dads (and the American dads living in Spain)!

I wrote a post once called Why You Should Have a Spanish Mother-in-Law. Read it—I talk about Mario’s mother, how great she is, and how much she worries about me. (I almost hate to cause her that worry, but it does make me feel loved.) Anyway, I got to thinking, and it seems that Mario’s father deserves a post because he, too, is wonderful.

Mario and his dad, Jesús, are similar in many ways. They are both intelligent, passionate learners, avid readers, and generous, kind people. They are both golosos (they have a huge sweet tooth). They never pass up a chance to eat dessert. I would say that Jesús wins this one, though; I think I’ve seen Mario refuse dessert a time or two. Jesús? Um, no. At a wedding we all attended last June, after a huge meal, he gleefully recounted how he hate not only his (very rich) dessert, but also those of two other people sitting at his table. Typical. I really love it when he brings out the cookie box after every meal—Mario’s mother, Pepita, is always rolling her eyes. Again, typical.

Jesús is a high school teacher, although he teaches middle-school-age kids really. In Spain, high school includes both middle-school and high-school-age kids. He teaches geography, and he knows basically everything there is to know about Spain. Also, everything. I still remember the first time I went to Mario’s house in Zamora to meet his family. There we were, for some reason discussing wine and vines, and there was a word that no one knew. His cousin told me something along the lines of , “Well, no one knows that word.” But guess what—Jesús did. Typical.

Teaching me about Sanabria.

Last year, after my day at the local high school, I would often go over there for lunch, even if Mario wasn’t there. For some reason, I think Jesús was glad of this. After a full day of teaching, he got yet another student: me. He loves to teach me, and I love it, too. You see, Mario and his brother, Víctor, have heard it all. They’re always telling him, “I know, Papá.” Well, I don’t know, so he gets to tell me. And tell me he does, often with millions of details I’ll never recall in two hours. Nonetheless, I enjoy it immensely. He also enjoys teaching me Spanish words. I’ve stopped telling him if I already know them, just because he enjoys telling me so much. Also: he’s really funny and always ready with a joke, no matter if you think it’s lame. (I never do!)

I have some really great parents, parents who always support me, parents who loved me immensely since the day I was born, parents who have gone to Spain twice to see me (and are going again in July!). Yet I am so lucky, because I get another set of my parents—mis suegros—who love me, who worry about me, who make me amazing food … the best set of suegros I could have ever asked for.

Happy (Belated) Father’s Day to Jesús: ¡eres el mejor!

I’m the Foreigner, or Is He?

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If you haven’t noticed, I’ve been away from Mario this year. [Sadface] I came back from Spain in June and haven’t returned since (although I’m going back in May!). He did come to visit for one glorious month, one full of tailgating, barbecues, football, and eating in general. We ran countless miles with my dog Molly, cooked dinner together regularly, and learned yet again how precious time is. Especially time together.

It’s easy to forget about time, its omnipresence. Time flies, time doesn’t stop, time drags … cliché phrases that convey cliché ideas. Nonetheless, this year I’ve learned to cherish it. How? By dating Mario, by being away from Mario. It’s not that taught me this because he really gets it (although he does) but that we’ve had very little time to spend together. We’ve had even less time without a date looming over heads, a date that tells us this is gonna end, now be sad. He’s good about living in the moment, not worrying, and trying to get me to do the same. But I’m not the type of person to just let worryable things pass by without, you know, worryingabout them. Give me something to worry about—I’m the world’s most consistent worrier.

So when Mario came to Indiana in late October, I couldn’t help but keep thinking about November 29, the day we’d drive him to O’Hare airport, the day I’d inevitably end up in tears, the day I’d watch him walk past security, a wry smile on his face as he struggled to be the strong one. (He always is. Last June, I saw him almost tear up, and—believe me—I never want to see that again. I’m the crier in this relationship, damn it!) He would try again and again to tell me to forget about it, to live in the moment, to just be. I did my best, and I deem this time more successful than the last. Hey, at least I’m improving.

Every moment of that month seemed significant: chopping vegetables at my kitchen counter, coming home to see him dressed in my brother’s sweatpants and sweatshirt (he was deprived of his Spanish house clothes), laughing as we drank wine at the dinner table, snuggling up next to him on the couch after a long day.

There are moments you’ll remember all your life: the day you graduate from high school, your first night in a college dorm room, the day you say yesto the love of your life, the day you stand together at an altar and pledge to live this life together, the day your first child (and second and third) is born, the day someone close to you passes away … these days you’ll not easily forget.

But I maintain that being with Mario has taught me to make “mental photographs” of the everyday, the mundane, because it? It matters too. In the end, it might matter most of all.

So here’s to Mario, here’s to being in a sometimes-incredibly-difficult relationship with a man born thousands of miles away from me, here’s to appreciating what life’s given us, here’s to the future we’re building together. Here’s to you doing the same, no matter if you have a significant other or not.

Cherishing the moment.

Madrid Bound

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Oh, so did I mention …

we’re moving back. To Spain.

And by we, I mean me; Mario’s already there. Being his Spanish self.

I think he looks very Spanish here, hiking in the Castilla y León wilderness.

Did I really just say that? Yeah, I did—me, moving back to Spain.

This is me.

This is me in Spain.

There’s no difference; I just felt like doing that.

So yeah, this is happening. Me + Mario + new job for him + apartment hunting + moving to a new city + my brother’s wedding in September + starting the job in October

One Busy Summer

Wish us luck! And, all of my Spain ladies, see you in Spain?

Who wants to “take a coffee”?

So Sorry, So Boring

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Do you still read this blog? It’s okay if you don’t. Except you’d be lying. You’re reading this right now.

I realize my life lately hasn’t been all that exciting, but I wanted to tell you all—exciting things are right around the corner. I know, I know; I wish I could post about them now, too, but it wouldn’t be prudent, and, you see, I’m all about being prudent. Bo-ring.

My cousin, Bailey, and me

So, here’s a few little life updates for you:

My super-smart, fantastic boyfriend received some amazing news that he totally deserves because he worked his you-know-what off for four years to get a very difficult degree. He would go to class from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. and then study afterwards. Dedication—it pays off. Good job, amor!
My favorite basketball team, the Indiana Hoosiers, are doing super well—and, well, that makes me happy. Go Hoosiers!

I am studying for the DELE exam, which, for those of you who don’t know, stands for the “Diplomas of Spanish as a Foreign Language.” It’s a diploma issued by the Cervantes Institute in Spain saying you talk real good in Spanish. Okay, it’s not just speaking, it’s also comprehension (reading and listening), and general knowledge of Spanish. I’m going for a tough one and can’t devote a ton of time to it (hello, full-time job!), but I’m going. Slowly. It helps to have Mario quiz me and give me helpful hints. I have my own personal practice examiner!
People are getting married: I just attended my cousin’s wedding (congratulations to Bret and Kelsey) and my brother’s wedding is in September. My “baby” brother. See also: smart, successful, and has a beautiful fiancé! Plus, there are others (who shall not be named)! Also, doesn’t it seem like everyone on Facebook is either heading for holy matrimony or having a kid? When did we get so old?!

I know, lame post, Kaley. But there has been a lot of exciting news lately, not the least of which is that Mario has picked up a new hobby: paddle tennis. This is totally a thing in Spain. Also: he’ll be running a half marathon later this month, most likely (100%) way faster than I could.

¡Vamos Mario!

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Kaley…& Más