En el ropero.

I’m teaching myself Spanish. It’s for Novel #2, but more broadly, so that I’ll be able to communicate more when traveling in Spanish-speaking countries (including the States). To do this, I’m reading The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe en Español for a half hour a day. I’m so familiar with it in English that I have a general idea of where the story is going, which helps.

La niña miró hacia el interior. Había numerosos abrigos colgados, la mayoría de piel. Nada le gustaba tanto a Lucía como el tacto y el olor de las pieles.

I was reminded, watching the World Cup, how much I love the sound and feel of Spanish. Isn’t that the reason why so many people learn another language? They just love the rhythm of it? My mother did, too—in addition to her love affair with Belize, she adored Julio Iglesias, which was a source of considerable embarrassment when I was growing up but now, of course, is nothing but adorable.

Había dejado la puerta abierta, por supuesto, pues comprendía que sería una verdadera locura encerrarse en el armario. 

Here are my rules: I can’t ever reference the English version. I have to learn in media res. If I don’t understand a word even after looking it up in my Spanish-English dictionary, I don’t sweat it, and keep going. Just like my parents encouraged me to do when I first learned to read as a child.

Avanzó also más y descubrió una segunda hilera de abrigos.

To help me remember vocabulary, I say it over and over, in a tone, or use my hands to indicate a word, whether it drops or rises, or to glue it to an image in my mind. I sit on my balcony with my eyes closed, waving my hands. The other day I realized I’d read an entire paragraph without having to look up a single word. Not stopping and starting. Just reading.

—¡Éste debe de ser un guardarropa gigantesco!—murmuró Lucía, mientras caminaba más y más adentro…

Y salgo de verano, y voy en el ropero.