?Hablas mucho español? ?Cuanto años ha sido?" JoAnne's middle-aged neighbor, Glenn, called to me with the hint of a Southern accent from across McDade's parking lot.
I almost dropped my filled-to-the-brim reusable shopping bag as I turned to see him resting his arms on his bike handles, his silver helmet fastened over a baseball cap. "Am I hallucinating?" I asked myself. "Hearing things?"
"¡Si! Ha sido como... tres años, más o menos," I replied after a couple of moments. I was thrilled to be speaking Spanish, the romantic, beautiful language that I've craved.
Glenn had seen my biography in Jackson Free Press. It reads: "Lisa Anderson studies journalism at the University of Oregon and love her Northwest, hippie college town. She enjoys speaking Spanish, painting, Rollerblading, and going on spontaneous adventures."
"We need to get some Mexican beer and practice at my place sometime," he said before explaining to me that he had picked up Spanish later in life and kept up with grammar through online exercises.
"Absolutely."
I'm always eager to drink a few coronas and exercise my easy-to-loose language abilities. And, speaking with an eccentric older bicyclist man, I'm sure some great writing material will abound.
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