Gene

Even though I was going to a rose garden to spread Gene's ashes, I bought flowers from a street vendor on the way. Call it an impulse buy, but it felt more like an instinct buy to me.

Today was a sunny Sunday. I've been waiting three weeks for a sunny Sunday on which to spread the ashes. I don't know why Sunday felt important to me; it was not for religious reasons, and the sun was simply a must. I showered and dressed in a black dress, which only later occurred to me as appropriate for a memorial.

I walked through the labyrinth or roses, speckled with painters and canvases (again, appropriate for Gene!) It took but a minute before I decided on a spot. A row of yellow roses, framed with cropped brush; it seemed like a spot that would have appealed to Gene.

"Gene, I know you always wanted to go to Italy, and I wish you'd let go of your inhibitions--your hesitancy around money--and taken the chance. But instead, you gave me a large sum of that money, and here I am in Spain. It's not Italy, but it's pretty darn close, and I'm here studying History of Art, which you would have approved of. We're in the Rosaleda, the rose labyrinth, and I think you'd like it here. It's one of my favorite places in the Park."

Then, as a nearby park performer wailed away a bittersweet tune on a saxophone in a minor key, I tossed the ashes into the air. I watched them settle on their yellow bed of petals, and sometimes be taken by a gust of wind and and scatter--hovering momentarily in the sun. I spread only a little more than half the ashes. I'm saving some for Barcelona.

Later on I met my roommate Taya for a walk through the happening park--Sundays are a busy day and we made our way to the open-air band-shell where there is a free concert every Sunday at noon. There were hoards of people, in chairs, laying in the grass, young and old, couples, singles, friends and parents. It really made me realize how much more appreciation the Spanish have for classical music, along with art and culture in general it seems. Here in Madrid, this culture is just so easily-accessible; it's at ones fingertips. Gene would have loved the concert.

To end our afternoon, we bought chocolate croissants from a Pastelería and genuine Spanish horchata--a cold, sweet, creamy drink made from the Chufa nut. They were both delicious and left me feeling just right; the croissant, though big, was light and hollow, so did'nt feel like too much. And the horchata was not too sweet and refreshing, though somewhat heavy, but we only got a small glass. I love Spain. Gene, here's to you.