The coming of the mother in law
I have accumulated a fair wealth of experience regarding Mother-in-Laws in my previous UK based lives. No this is not the start of an old Les Dawson joke, but an insight to a different kind of Mother-in-Law ? the genuine Spanish variety.
But was I prepared for a two month visit?
For a variety of complex family politics of the Spanish kind, to be honest not to dissimilar to the British ones she wanted to come and stay with us in our new centre of Torrevieja apartment. Also she had a strong motivation to be able to return to her village and proudly explain how well her daughter was doing, despite her partner being British, to her contemporaries who have only heard of the infamous Torrevieja but never dared to visit.
Life of the Urb had always baffled her during her short holiday stays in previous years.. Why are most of the houses empty? Why, when they are here do they sit in the sun and burn? Why do they drink so much. Why are there no street lights or phones. All run of the mill stuff for us Urb wallors but very complex when you are Spanish and eighty three years old.
Anyway we went and collected her from her village base camp in Castilla La Mancha, not unlike the Sussex countryside but warmer well in summer anyway, and we patiently waited in the urb villa until we could move downtown to the apartment. I think I scored lots of points as I industriously packed and moved boxes in a more complex phased relocation plan than the D Day Normandy landings. I should explain at this stage that although my Spanish is passable for the essentials of life explaining complex logistical relocations to an aged Spanish relative is, in all honestly, a bit more than my Spanish grammar permits.
Eventually the big day arrived, despite incomplete plumbing, missing and temperamental lights, no hob or heating we took the plunge. We loaded her into the car along with her rather weighty suitcase, this was of course with the benefit of hindsight the clue to her obvious intention of making it a long stay, which I had overlooked with the demands of relocation planning.
Living with an aged relative, a new experience for me, does actually give the day a fairly rigid mealtime structure. Which to be honest was rather pleasurable. Bread with every meal was mandatory. The panadero is now my best friend. I asked him what time he gets up and he replied 4am. I told him that I did not want his job and he told me neither did he! Also the provisions expeditions became a wholly different experience with her sending the assistants to the warehouse numerous times in search of the only acceptable sort of breakfast biscuit. You can?t just dunk anything into your caf? con leche.
The inevitable happened of course and we returned home one day to find Iberdrola had decided that we did not deserve any more electricity leaving her stranded 4 flights of stairs down from the apartment. Whilst I frantically ran, literally as they were due to close in ten minutes to the bank to sort out the billing problem, she retreated to the tercera edad (third age) restaurant. I later joined her for a 3-course lunch for a very reasonable 5.90 euros. Being old has some advantages mind you they seem to serve anyone. My looking old act, not to difficult, was not really necessary.
Another highlight of the day, after yet another meal, was what she calls Cajas (boxes). Probably better known to you as Deal or No Deal (uk tv) She really loved watching as the contestant tried, usually in vain, to win money. She always opted for taking the offer shouting Coger (Take it) at the TV. It really is more fun than watching the Noel Edmunds version. They sing, dance, and generally get up to all sort of antics win or lose.
She never really wasted a moment and she found time for regular visits for Misa (mass) to the church. On the days she did not feel like the walk she bought modern technology into play and used her Walkman for Misa.
Well two months passed and every shirt has its entire buttons, every pair of trousers is the right length and we have some new crochet mats for the furniture. It was time for her to head home as it was Noche Vieja (Christmas Eve)
I just hope I am on similar form when I am 83. Spanish Mother in Law ? no problem and I have her recipe for tortilla, the best in Spain.
