We must believe in spring #2

We may still believe in spring, but it seems that this faith is passing in vain, unnoticed by the Gods, or whatever natural powers rule the meteorological micro-universe over Catalunya.

Yet we pass another dull, indoor Sunday afternoon as the wind whips the drizzle against the closed window, the balcony almost flooded.

And the rain it raineth everyday...

The pale afternoon is filled with homely smells as the "small" family is having an unusual gathering. The clothes on the hangers of the living-room, avoiding the floating mists of the balcony with the familiar perfume of the softener, the sound of the week-end laundry being done in the kitchen and the smell of tomato sauce being prepared for a quick and easy Sunday meal. Those who don't have to study, are too lazy, or too tired or too hang-overed to cook anything fancier than pasta.

Sundays at home in May is a rare sight. We are no more students to be preparing for the exam period, neither family men to have to devote quality time to our beloved offspring. The usual Sunday afternoons do not involve activities of more advanced nature than reading the paper, watching a film, playing guitar or trumpet or chess and most of the times some of these activities are transferred outdoors, in a bar of Barceloneta, Bogatell beach or Montjuic's gardens. Alas, our faith in spring is still an orphan, waiting for its Messiah or an apocalypse.

We stayed in. Luigi stressed with his thesis project, due Tuesday, Giuseppe with his biochemistry essay slowly progressing, Rosa trying to translate a stupid American film script with more slang expressions than pronouns. Myself, lying on the counch with "The Sea" by John Banville and Ravel's "Pavane pour une infante defunte" to keep me company. Reading about some distant irish summers which can be even worse than this year's spring in Barcelona, made me feel the laziest of them all. And the least useful one except from when I could try answering some question Giu would have with biochemistry.

Then, we decided we all were in need of a break. The guys stopped working, I cooked and we shared a simple lunch while Giu had a nice idea of a game. The first three or four notes of known songs sounding from his computer and then us trying to recognize the tune. We were all in need of something, some of us in need of someone or both but all we could do is blame it on the rain and disguise our quest in the form of a game. That "something" became a song, that "someone" a forgotten rock star of the 80s.

Funny how simple things can sound fun but anything goes on Sundays like this. In the end, I found out about one or old Nirvana classics I did not know about. And I 'll hold on to them until the sun decides to show his disgraced face upon Barcelona.