Coffee, Rain, and a Ghost Sighting

Last night, 10:56 pm
Jenny thinks our apartment is haunted. She claims she saw two ghosts in her bathroom the other night: a soldier in a red coat holding the hand of a little boy. I told her either she has nightmares or she's crazy, take your pick. She says she'll take the bad dreams, because she doesn't want to be crazy, but I still think she believes they are real. She claims she's seen ghosts before. I told her I won't believe her until she talks to them and asks them what they want. Or wakes me up, so I can talk to him. She confessed to me that she slept in her parents' room in a sleeping bag until she was 16! That sounds a bit crazy, especially since she has a younger brother... don't know how her parents managed to let that happen with a daughter asleep at the foot of the bed. She said as a child they tried to lock her in her bedroom, but she ended up crying outside their bedroom door. I told her I figured my parents would've let me sleep on the floor in the hall. No one's ever died from crying themselves to sleep. She slept with all of her bedroom lights on the night after her sighting, and the reflection from the hallway just about drove me batty.

This afternoon, 1:19 pm
I do not know what Café Martinez gives you for free with your coffee. Perhaps nothing. I ordered mine with a cucona, which appeared in the menu as a spiral cookie, but here it is golden plain with almonds and spices. It tastes good, feels healthy. A rather large roan-colored dog sniffs my table. (Jenny always wants to take stray dogs home. I won't let her.) Today is a nice day: my shoulders bare, my feet sandaled. This dog is not a stray. He wears a collar and trots back to his owner's table, where sit two men in their late 20s. "He is a very dangerous dog," the owner tells me in accented English. "No, he seems sweet," I tell him. "Where are you from?" "The U.S." "But where?" "Texas," I smile. He walks off across the street, friend ahead of him and dog trailing behind. "Nice meeting you!" he yells from the other side. But we didn't actually meet... I suppose he saw my English title book, What is the What. Or maybe he heard me stumble over the unfamiliar word "cucona." But most likely, I still appear foreign, even in my American jeans, Argentine purse and vest, and Brazilian shoes.
After eating at Kansas last week, I realize I don't miss American food, just Mexican food. And although I can find it here (my standards have lowered,) I don't think I could find decent chile con queso to save my life. I also miss hummus. I tried to find it at the store this morning, but I ended up buying Babba Ganoush-- pasta de berenjena (eggplant paste) is what they call it here. I figure I can eat it with celery. It's gotten rather warm now. It almost seems too hot to drink coffee. My running route covers a lot of territory. Countless cafes along the way. This is only one of many. Perhaps I will try the others as well. But so far, the Havanna chain beats Martinez, its chain competitor, hands down.

Right now, 9:29 pm
It's raining like crazy now. A loud, heavy rain. It smells like summer. I could almost swear I'm in Texas. Considered grabbing an ice cream before I heard the sky collapse in claps of thunder and the drumbeat of a torrential downpour. The sky lights up and everything is illuminated. The concrete skyline looks eerie in each glimpse of too-fast disappearing light. It would've been my second ice cream of the day. (Did I mention I've been a bottomless pit lately?) Took my jogging route in reverse and a little further as I opted to walk it this morning, and I passed an artesanal ice cream parlor that touted the health benefits of its ice cream, and I knew I had to try it post-coffee, pre-vest search. I doubt the dulce de leche con brownie and chocolate amargo (bitter chocolate) did much for my health, but it sure did taste good. No offense to Brenham, TX, but Blue Bell has got nothing on Buenos Aires' Italian-influenced ice creams. I ended up going to another Disco after reading for a bit and finding ningún chaleco as cute as the one Silvana said she'd let me borrow. I keep getting coupons for Sancor Bio yogurt, which, as far as I'm concerned, doesn't exist at my regular Disco. I've never found it on Santa Fe, but they had it at the one on Bulnes. And my coupon saved me a whopping 86 centavos on drinkable yogurt. (It's not as bad as it sounds.) I also found hummus, Brie, and some Ades brand soy drink in durazno, or peach, flavor. (I have yet to find plain soy milk, but the peaches 'n cream flavor is really quite delicious. Don't think I'll pour it over cereal anytime soon though.)
Sadly, the hummus was no great shakes. And as an import, it wasn't cheap. (The import flour tortillas from El Paso were pretty bad too. Tasted stale. I suppose that's a long way for shipping. But Jenny doesn't mind the taste, so I let her have them.) I ended up mixing the hummus with equal parts Babba Ganoush and sprinkled it with a dash of Cajun seasoning. With celery sticks and sesame crackers, it tasted alright. I doubt I'll buy either again. So now I'm sipping on green tea and wondering if the ghost Jenny claims she saw was Coronel Pedro José Díaz, our street's namesake. Not sure about the red coat though... or what I'm going to do tomorrow if it stays soggy...

Coronel Pedro José Díaz, c. 1820s

Jesse Forester will be in town and invited me to join him and his friend for dinner at California Burrito Company at 8 o'clock. It's on Lavalle, do I know it? Yeah, I know it. I've become a Taco Tuesday regular. And I think I might continue the trend until I grow sick of cheap tacos.