The songwriter in me...
Category: Music

Songwriting is a mysterious thing. Even though I have written many, I often marvel at the wonder of it all. There are songs that tumble out quickly all in one "piece", needing very few revisions, with the music already an integral part of the whole. More often than not, songs that come by this route are born from a strong emotion I'm in the midst of. "I Miss You Tonight" is good example of this.

Then there are songs that appear out of nowhere, slowing forming in my head, one word, one sentence at a time, gradually coming into being, often over a period of months. The embryo of such a song may come very quickly, a brief chunk of perfection, a perfectly written moment, music intact. This little piece will flit about in my head begging for addition and completion. Sometime the meaning is hazy. I'll love the phrase, line, or chorus, but haven't a clue as to how to fit it into the story of a finished song. It's almost as though I'm merely channeling someone or something from a parallel universe eager for their side of the story to be told, but wanting me to pull it out of them one word at a time. Time will pass, I'll finish the song, and then the true meaning of it suddenly comes to me from a direction I hadn't yet considered. Just another "Ah ha!" moment in life.

I've been working on such a song for a while now and finished it up earlier this week. The chorus was the original 'bit' that has been working on me:

Everything I know
Everything I own
Everything I thought was real
Everything is gone
Every right is wrong
Now that I've begun to feel
There's nothing left of me
You are all I need
To fill up every day
And now you're taking that away

Since this wasn't something I was personally experiencing, I had to create a scenario. (It was either that or pick a fight with Christo!) I've been chipping away at it for months, trying to find the best story to fit with these words. Not satisfied with what I was coming up with, I'd set it aside for awhile and pick it up again from time to time.

Then a couple of days ago, I went for a run to clear my head, (running is a form of meditation for me), and I returned with the song nearly finished. I recently finished reading Ken Follett's Pillars Of The Earth and in the characters of Aliena and Jack, I found the story. I wonder if that means I owe Ken Follet part of the writing credit? He didn't write the words, but he did give me the star-crossed lovers to draw from.

In any case, I hope they make a movie/mini-series inspired by this novel. I have the theme music for these two characters in the bag.

Now I'm reading "The Geography of Bliss" by Eric Weiner. It's definitely blog worthy. Stay tuned...

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Art and Ego
Category: Art and Photography

The other day in an email exchange with a good friend I found myself saying, "We creative types live with the constant struggle to squelch the wicked little nagging voice of ego. It's so destructive and yet so persistent."

I can relate that thought to my experience at the watercolor workshop I attended recently. I chose to study with a wonderful portrait artist. She was my choice not only because it was my first opportunity to study with an artist whose primary subject is portraits, but because her paintings are the opposite of mine. She chooses natural skin colors and paints them fluidly, keeping her paintings pastel and transparent. I tend to paint thick, dark/bright, larger than life 'heads', often with skin tones that lack any relation to the various colors of 'flesh'. Although I would argue that point and say every face is filled with colors of all sorts. Let's face it (so to speak), a skin tone color is a neutral and requires the proper mix of all three primary colors.

During the week of the workshop, our talented instructor would give us long demonstrations, showing us how to blend the colors and how to apply them just so. She made it look so effortless. I would eagerly return to my work table and attempt to mix my colors and produce the same fluid brush strokes only to see blotchy dark shapes appear on the paper before me. My ego found a place to perch on my shoulder near my right ear. From there, the little bugger could watch me work and keep up a constant dialogue about how I was doing it all wrong.

When my instructor painted something she wasn't happy with, she could immediately make repairs with remarkably successful results. I watched her change the color of an eye SIX times without creating 'mud' or losing the transparency. I tried to duplicate that process and only succeeded in making my eye a darker brown. (I looked over at the table next to me as my ego continued the conversation, "Look how beautifully your classmate is painting. If she can do it, what's your problem?")

It's the water, it's the brush, it's the paint, it's a combination of the three, mixed just so, that allows an artist to make necessary changes as she goes. I once watched a woman paint a full sheet, (that's 22" x 30") with a very small brush, working from the top (all the way across) to the bottom of the sheet, pulling the edge of liquid that forms by gravity. It was an amazing thing to watch her produce a very intricate, realistic painting of this size with a teeny tiny brush.

Before the workshop, my brush of choice was a 3 inch flat. Painting with a larger brush helps keep me looser. (It also makes for larger mistakes!) Ernie, a fellow classmate loaned me a beautiful large round brush to try and I instantly fell in love. My shapes started making a little more sense and the brush held so much water I was able to manipulate the paint a little more easily.

By the end of the week, I stopped listening to the incessant banter of my ego and simply lost myself in the process. I quit believing that every sheet I painted had to be a masterpiece and just frolicked with the paints, splashed in the water, and experimented with the ideas that had been presented during the daily demos. Pretty soon I heard the wee small voice of my ego whispering under her breath, "Hey, that's not bad."

While the process was somewhat painful and frustrating, I think those were growing pains. I learned more than I realized I was learning at the time. Now that I'm back in my own studio, I can see it. It's kind of a thrill to catch a glimpse of the progress I'm making in my painting and with my art. So, when my ego tries to take the fun out of it, I'll find a way to squelch the volume and enjoy what I'm seeing come to play on the canvas.

Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up.
- Pablo Picasso

(Myspace took away the "what I'm currently reading/listening to/watching" at the end of the blog. I wonder why? Anyway, I just finished reading Liz Gilbert's much recommended "Eat, Pray, Love". I can see why it's on everybody's list. It's definitely one of those books you tell your friends about.)

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Kanuga Blog Gone
Current mood: acquiescent
Category: acquiescent Art and Photography

On our way home from Pennsylvania Friday, I wrote a blog all about our recent experience at the Kanuga Watercolor Workshops in Hendersonville, NC. I highlighted our time spent with the warm and wonderful artists and instructors, and the beautiful, verdant, pastoral, woodsy, serene landscape that is Kanuga. We consider it to be a "thin place", a place where the boundary between heaven and earth almost ceases to exist.

I wrote about all the work we did as "helpers" to get the classrooms set up and prepare for the arrival of the participants. I mentioned the hundreds of tables we covered with plastic, the giant overhead mirrors that Chris, Ray, and Will set up in each classroom for the instructor demos, the many boxes of art supplies we delivered.

I also wrote about how throughout the week we would enjoy the nightly programs that featured demonstrations by some of the talented professional artists who were teaching this year or perhaps will be next year. And about going back to our cabin later in the evenings, where we would sip a glass of wine in front of a fire Christo built in the fireplace while spending some quality time with our cabin-mates (workshop directors, Robbie Laird and her husband Will, and Ray & Linda Baker).

I know I mentioned the movie we created of the week's activities to show Thursday night at the closing party. It was made up of photos that Christo took every day. He'd go to each classroom and shoot pics of the artists as they worked. My favorites were the group photos, with the class members gathered, each holding one of their week's creations. Unbeknownst to them, Christo set the camera on video as they were getting in position for the photo and then shot a still when they were all lined up. We included the videos dissolving into the stills in the movie we made. This made for plenty of smiles at the party Thursday night! (For any interested parties, DVDs of this movie, (it's an hour long), are available for $15 plus $3 shipping and handling. The proceeds will go to our favorite nonprofit "Give and Live" and the Children's Garden Orphanage in Thailand. If you want one, send an email to: Chris@BBHsings.com.)

There was much more information in the blog I wrote Friday afternoon. It really captured a feel for the fantastic week we spent in the company of amazing artists and friendly kindred spirits. I can't remember everything I wrote now though. As you may have already guessed, somewhere along the way that blog disappeared. I know I didn't intentionally delete it, but I suppose it's possible I wasn't paying attention while quitting an application or closing a window. Whatever I did, the blog ceased to exist. It's too long after the fact for me to recreate it now, so this is all you get unless you have any specific questions about all the parts I left out. I do intend to write a separate blog about my experience there as a painter. First, let's see if I can get this one posted before it vanishes into the abyss.

Anyway, as conservationist Rachel Carson once said, "I am always more interested in what I am about to do than in what I have already done."

One more thing, if you are a painter of any level, you just may want to join in the fun next year. You can get more info at KanugaWatercolorWorkshops.com. The dates are March 22 - 27, 2009. The brochures are mailed in August and here's a word of advice, register EARLY! The classes fill very quickly.

Paint on...

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Life after Ishmael...
Category: Life

I've recently finished reading a book that has me considering life on Earth from a different viewpoint. This book is actually a sequel to another very intriguing book on similar subject matter. It's one of those potentially life changing tomes. The information is there, what will I do with it?

The books are, 'Ishmael' and 'My Ishmael' by Daniel Quinn. One of the issues discussed in both books has to do with our approach to food. It's too involved to detail for you here. Read the books, then we'll talk. I'm in the state of pondering and 'digesting' the points made. It would be nice to have a dialogue about it. Here are a few random thoughts brought to life by these books....

What if we as a "civilized" culture didn't keep our food locked up? What if we lived the lifestyle of thousands of years ago and were responsible to hunt and gather our meals? I just prepared a simple lunch for us. It was basically a tortilla wrapped around a little salad and cheese. It took me just a moment or two to put together. Pulling the ingredients out of the fridge took more time than the actually preparing of the meal.

What if I were a member of a tribe, living simply with the land, taking only what I need and no more, responsible for feeding myself in a way that works with the environment naturally? My simple little meal just became more complicated. I'd have to grow the wheat for the tortillas. Maybe I could find it wild somewhere, but I'd still have to harvest it, grind it, mix it with water gathered from a stream, shape the bread, and make a fire to 'bake' it. (Tortillas are actually 'fried' on a dry, preferably cast iron pan, but I suppose I could throw a big flat rock in the fire and make that work.)

The salad could possibly be gathered fairly easily, provided I had a knowledge of wild plants safe for consumption. This is info 'our people' once knew very long ago. The cheese is another story. There would have to be a goat or cow involved in that process. I may have to forgo the dairy altogether.

As I worked this morning (preparing our tax info for the accountant, ugh), from time to time I would feel like having a snack. It's so easy. Just open the cupboard and there's a plethora of inviting options. I'm already planning what we'll have for dinner tonight. Oh, it'll take a little time to prepare, but the necessary ingredients are all there in the kitchen awaiting my attention. It's so easy. Maybe that's really the reason our culture keeps us all overweight. It's so easy. If I really had to prepare every meal "from scratch", I think I'd lose interest in the snacking and just eat enough to survive.

All things being relative, if we had held onto our hunter gatherer ways and were less dependent on the folks who keep our food (and oil, and other worldly goods) under lock and key, I wouldn't have to work so much to buy such things and maybe I wouldn't be up to my neck in tax preparation right now. All this contemplation has made me hungry....

Currently reading : My Ishmael By Daniel Quinn Release date: 06 October, 1998

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Heroes
Category: Life

My youth concerts begin with a few words about limits, first with a highly condensed story of Wilma Rudolph, one of my personal heroes, or "sheroe" is perhaps more accurate. I admire Wilma, not for the three gold Olympic medals she won, nor for her championship basketball skills, but for the way she threw off the limits placed on her by the childhood disease that caused her to wear a brace on her leg until she was 8 years old. Instead of giving in or giving up, she finally took that brace off and taught herself to walk, then to run.

Wilma had a physical handicap that she was ultimately able to reverse. It took great gumption and desire on her part to do it, but hers was a handicap that could be "fixed". I know people who have overcome other reversible physical and mental handicaps including alcoholism & drug addiction, and I admire them all so much.

Not all handicaps can be completely reversed or overcome. I have another 'shero'. She was born with Spina Bifida and has spent her life in a wheelchair. She's the "cheerleader sitting in a chair" in my song "Messenger". She's beautiful to look at, and I've never known a brighter light to shine from within someone.

When I'm with her (as we were last weekend), she doesn't behave like she's handicapped (a term she prefers over 'disabled'), or draw me into making life easier for her. She's so independent I have to remind myself to offer to give her a push. I can only imagine how nice it must be for her to have someone take over the propulsion of her wheels from time to time. (I dare you to take her on in arm wrestling!)

On the other hand, when we're together I'm much more aware of the world the handicapped exist in. I'm more inclined to notice curbs, heavy entrance doors, high countertops. As we drove home Monday, I thought of my dear friend who was also driving home in her specially equipped van. She drives with her hands. Think about that next time you answer your cell phone or take a sip of coffee as you're cruising through rush-hour traffic. I thought about her every time we stopped for gas. We hop out and start pumping our gas, maybe run in to pick up a beverage or some road snacks before climbing back in and heading down the road. Not so easy a task when the driver is wheelchair bound and traveling alone.

My friend popped into my mind as I hurried out of the van headed for the ladies room at a rest stop along the way. The wind was bitter and the walk (or run!) to the facility was all uphill from the parking area. It's just another one of the many 'little' things we take for granted, that my friend has to deal with in an entirely different way.

As I said, this woman shines with a light brighter than any I've seen. It's no wonder I find her an inspiration and have her safely tucked up on the pedestal with Wilma Rudolph and my other heroes and sheroes.

Currently reading : Ishmael: An Adventure of the Mind and Spirit By Daniel Quinn Release date: 01 May, 1995

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Quesadilla Extraordinaire!
Category: Food and Restaurants

Last night we had quesadillas for dinner. Not just run of the mill everyday quesadillas, but absolutely, without a doubt, the best tasting quesadillas I've ever eaten. The sad part is, there will never be another quite like it. I suppose that's the beauty of it as well. It's the nature of cooking really. Even when we make the same recipe with the same ingredients, there are so many ways it can change slightly to ultimately have a differing end result.

Last night's quesadillas were put together quickly from an assortment of leftovers and odds and ends we found in the fridge. The combination included our favorite Cabot Extra Sharp White Cheddar Cheese, a perfectly ripened avocado, and (here's where it gets interesting), a combination of red beans and rice (inspired by our recent adventure in Nicaragua), a spicy pumpkin black bean chili, and a very fresh pico di gallo salad that Gene made and sent home with us. (It consisted of red peppers, cilantro, parsley, tomatoes, onions, celery, green peppers, etc., dressed with a little lemon juice and olive oil. As Fernando would say "Magnifico!")

Just thinking about the ingredients makes my mouth water, but let me tell you what we've learned about making exquisite quesadillas, whatever the filling. I think this may have been culled from America's Test Kitchen, or possibly The Splendid Table. Whatever the source, it's our favorite home-cooked fast food!

First, preheat your frying pan to a good solid medium heat. (I have a large nonstick KitchenAid pan that works beautifully for this.) Then plop a flour tortilla on the heated pan, a couple minutes on each side should do it. It may start to puff up when you flip it. That's good.

After it's heated through on both sides, take the tortilla off the pan, place it on a work surface and put your filling of choice on one half of the circle. Then fold it in half to encase the filling and set it aside while you prepare the rest of them. (If you're eating alone, one may be enough. They're pretty large.)

Okay, now comes the part that really puts them over the top. When you have them ready, brush one side with olive oil and sprinkle it with coarse kosher salt. Then lay it oil side down in your hot pan. (We can fit two in our pan at one time, if that gives you an idea how large they are.)

Brush the exposed side with olive oil and sprinkle with more coarse salt. When the first side is nice and brown, (a couple minutes or so), flip it and brown the other side. Have some additional guacamole or hot sauce on hand for dipping, if you like. Crunchy on the outside, hot and melty on the inside, these are SO tasty. Fast food at it's finest!

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Comprendo?
Category: Travel and Places

Communicating with our host family was interesting to say the least, a bit challenging, exhausting at times, and often hilarious! Before boarding the plane to Managua. we were somewhat smug that we would understand more than we could speak and that we'd be able to make ourselves understood without too much trouble. (Ha!)

However primitive, we knew the basics... por favor, muchas gracias, donde esta el baño. We could attest to our hunger (yo tango hambre or yo necesito comida!), order a couple cold beers (dos cervezas frios por favor!), and count to 100 or so (uno, dos, tres.....). We knew to pronounce the vowels a certain way (a/ah, e/ay, i/ee, o/oh, u/oo, y/ee), that their 'v' is pronounced like our 'b', their 'z' like our 's', and their 'd' is often more of a 'th'.

What we didn't realize is a few phrases don't go far in conversation. After the initial "Como esta?" (How are you?) or Que tal? (same as Que pasa?), it's time to head off into everyday chatter. This is where we would stumble and fall. Our sweet hosts, Corina and Fernando, knew about as much English as we knew Spanish. But we were in their country and Spanish is the common language. They were comfortable rattling on almost as though they thought we really could understand. Y'know how we folks here in the USA talk to visitors from foreign lands. We speak in English, perhaps a little more slowly, thinking surely our listeners will pick up the gist of our words. (And when that doesn't work, we just talk more loudly, as if we can make up for what we lack in language skills by simply turning up the volume!)

Sometimes, it was just easier, to smile and nod. Corina was pretty good at reading our expressions and she could tell when we were "faking it". When she really wanted to make sure we understood, she would asked for my little electronic translator and type away. Honestly, that little translator was a helpful tool at the breakfast and dinner table. It would keep us on track with each other. There was always much laughter, at us, with us, it was joyous and loving. Ultimately we found the path to communication and more often than not, it was worth the extra effort.

After the first few evenings, Christo and I decided we needed a nightly diversion that wouldn't require the continual effort of conversation,. So we taught our new friends a card game, a game we learned from my mother-in-love, called "Sevens", It's a fancy cousin of Crazy 8s, simple to learn, and can be played by any number of players. It only took a couple hands played face up to explain the premise to our hosts and we were soon caught up in the process, laughing, taking turns winning, and including 4 year old Mateo in the fun. (Imagine our surprise when we were at the New Year's Eve Fiesta at another host home and Corina found our King of Hearts stuffed inside Mateo's pants!)

Christo and I learned what they call the suits in Spanish (heart/corizon, diamond/diamonte, club/fleur, spade/baston) and we would practice our numbers as we played each card. One night The boys tried to teach each other card tricks. That didn't seem to work as well as playing Sevens, but it did lead to Christo making quarters disappear for Mateo and magically pulling them out of his ears. Having fun makes it easier to succeed in communicating.

It's so true that full immersion, although frustrating at times, is a great way to learn a language. I have been learning to read and write Thai, but there's only so much you can accomplish by reading a book and listening to the same CD over and over again. It's the day to day life in a country, living among the native people that really helps one learn the language. But learning the language is only part of the process. It takes patience, kindness, respect, and understanding to truly communicate.

Hasta luego Amigos!

Currently watching : Six Feet Under - The Complete Fourth Season Release date: 23 August, 2005

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La Escuela (Centro Alternativo Projècto 19 de Julio)
Category: Travel and Places

While my memories of our adventure in Nicaragua linger most with the time we shared with our host family, we honestly spent many more waking hours at the school. Every morning our bus picked us up. Christo, Fernando, Corina, and I would be waiting in front of our green metal entrance. Tia and Mateo were always there to give us hugs and kisses to send us on our way. From there we traveled several blocks to the area where the rest of the group was staying. Since their homes were close together, they would often all gather at Roger's (pronounced "Rohare". Say it out loud a couple times so you will read it correctly!). This made for fewer stops for our bus driver, Fernando. (Not the same Fernando as our host family.)

There were several young Nicaraguans who were pitching in to help with the project, Elvis, Sidney, Linda, and Lela Ruth, to name a few. They brought wonderful life and fun to every day. I'll post more pics of them in my next album. (Pics of the school are already posted.) Our bus would stop to pick them up as well.

Upon arrival at the school we'd all set to work. The work consisted of cleaning, scraping, scrubbing, painting, washing windows, painting, replacing window glass, painting, replacing ceiling tiles, painting, scrapping, scrubbing, waxing, and polishing the red tile floors, painting, more cleaning, more painting, more cleaning.

One thing on the "to do" list was to rewire the two story building we had taken on for this project. This task was handled mostly by Goose and Mike, two members of our group that had the most experience in this area. They often had to work with the "juice" on. It made for a few exciting moments for both of them, but happily, no one ended up writhing on the floor. As they'd finish up running the wires, other members of the group would follow after them and install wall plugs and ceiling light sockets. By the way, every light bulb we saw, at the school and around town, were all compact florescent. In a place where electricity is not taken for granted, they have a great awareness for conservation.

One task that ultimately fell to me (and I loved it!) was cleaning, painting (of course), and organizing the storage room. Every morning, all the tools, gear, ladders, paint, rollers, brushes, etc. etc. were pulled from a heap in a small storage room where they had been piled the night before. On one of Gene and Roger's (go on say again, Rohare's) trips to "the largest market in Central America" a few blocks away, they brought back large sturdy shelving and loads of plastic storage bins. Christo and Taylor set to work building the shelves in our freshly painted room. Once they were in place, I set to work organizing. By the end of the day, my coworkers would come in search of anything and I knew right where it was. (They nicknamed me "Radar". I kind of liked the reference to one of my favorite MASH personalities.) By the time we departed, the storage room had specific shelves for tools, for paint, for cleaning supplies, and a whole wall of shelves for school supplies, much of which arrived with us. (I've never sorted through so many pencils, crayons, pens, and markers!)

Everyday, we would break for lunch around noon. A large table was spread with typical lunch fare, bread, cold cuts, cheese, peanut butter, pickles, potato chips, corn chips, and cookies. There was a large cooler filled with water and soft drinks on ice. I loved it when Rosa and the teachers would bring in fresh exotic fruit or make a pot of soup. I didn't eat the soup because it had plenty of carne y pollo (meat & chicken) in it. But I loved seeing it bubbling on the stove in the kitchen. (At the end of one long hot day, right before we got back on the bus, they pulled cans of Tonia beer out of the freezer!! Now there's a memory I won't soon forget!)

When they'd finished eating, a game of basketball or volleyball would commence among the younger folks. Rosamande (School Superintendent and head honcho) was always in the middle of it. She's quite a player. Our Corina is exceptional at volley ball. It was fun to watch her show the boys how it's done!

After the break we'd really dig in until it was time to clean up around 3:30. (If we weren't ready to get on the bus when it arrived at 4, there was a chance that the folks who were hoping for a shower wouldn't make it back in time before their water was turned off for the day. (This is when Christo and I were especially grateful for our 'dip a bowl in a bucket shower' that we could take whenever we were ready!)

Our last day of work was Friday, January 4th. A plane would take the rest of us back to the US the next day. I say the rest of us because by Friday afternoon our numbers had dwindled. Our family of four departed New Year's Day due to an accident one of them had. (The mom tripped on a walkway in her host home, bit through her lip and loosened a few teeth. She's okay, but they wanted to get her to her dentist to check the teeth, so we lost the parents and the two (grown) kids). Marnie had to leave Thursday to get back to teach, and Goose and Kelly had to leave Friday. (Goose still spent Friday morning, in his traveling clothes, working on the electricity!) So Friday afternoon, what was left of us worked especially hard to get the job done. Some of us stayed until after dark to keep working. (Christo and I smug in the knowledge our 'shower' would be there waiting when we eventually made it back to our casa.)

The school looks amazing. While we were there, two rooms were cleared out, the barrier between them removed and the whole new grand space was (scrubbed and painted!) and turned into a library! I wish I had taken more pics. Gene is organizing photos from all the folks cameras and he also shot plenty of video. So there should be more to come. The pics I posted will at least give you an idea. I just wish we could have been there when the kids returned. I'll bet it was a party!

Currently listening : The Gospel Truth By Susan Werner Release date: 27 February, 2007

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La Casa Dulce

Our home in Managua was long, narrow, and deep, as is the style of many homes there, and much of it is open air. Actually my favorite part about it was that it was so open to the sky. We saw a multitude of stars every night. It would be easier to show you photos than to try to describe it, but I'll do my best. The different sections of the home are small and it´s currently under construction. This seemed to be the case with many of the residences we saw.

All the homes in Managua have some kind of protective ironwork, gates, bars, there's even razor wire at the school and elsewhere. The entrance to our home was a solid metal green wall with a solid metal door in it. They would leave the door open sometimes during the day, but more often than not, it would be closed and locked when we arrived home.

Just beyond the gate was a small courtyard with a dirt floor. There were trees and plants along the outside edges. From there we entered into a covered area that I would call the "great room". Like the great room in our home in TN, it wasn't large, but it had a living area, a dining area, and a kitchen. The kitchen (la cocina) was a one person at a time affair, tucked into a corner. The kitchen is often the place I seek out when we travel. Here, I was afraid I would just get in the way, so I more or less observed from a distance and just helped carry things to the table. (Although from time to time, I was the happy recipient of tasty morsels of whatever was cooking.) We actually ate our meals with Corina, Fernando, and Mateo, out in an open air courtyard in the back near our bedroom. (There is a painted cinder block wall that blocks the view of the neighbors, whose home is directly on the other side of the wall.)

Beyond the 'great room' area we walked outside once again into an area with an elevated outdoor cooking fire/grill/oven. When we first arrived, there were a couple chickens wandering around. Come New Year's Eve, the chickens disappeared, and we were told they were in the large pot that sat atop a wood fire. On top of the pot was another small fire that made the whole thing into a makeshift oven. (I found myself grateful that, by this time, they were comfortable with the fact that we don't eat meat or chicken!)

Just past this area is a space that the walkway goes through the middle of. This space contains a couple of sinks. To the right of the walkway is the sink where they wash all the dishes and sometimes do laundry. (The large cement sinks have a built in ribbed scrub board area for laundry.) On the left side of the walkway is another sink that seemed to be their primary laundry sink. That's also the area where they hang most of the drying clothes. (All the laundry was done completely by hand. Tia and Mama would ask for our laundry every day and we would only give them a piece or two at a time to appease their insistence. It wouldn't have been right to give them nothing, especially when Tia would hold her nose to indicated our clothes were starting to smell!)

Just past the sink area, on the right, there are two stalls with roofs. The first is the toilet (that we flushed with a small bucket if water), and the second is the shower stall. (Our showers were taken by dipping a small plastic bowl into a larger bucket of water and pouring it over us. Our dear sweet host Corina, would heat a pot of water on the stove and add it to our larger bucket to take the chill off the water. While the water wasn't actually hot, this was still quite a luxury and we were grateful for it!)

Across the path from the washing area there isn't much going on, except for the storage of a couple water barrels and a place to hang laundry. It's possible this will become another covered bedroom. While we were there Corina's papa slept on a cot in the great room. I'm not sure where Mama and Tia slept, IF they slept!) They are in the process of pouring cement walkways over the dirt paths that stretch throughout the length of the home. Perhaps the building of walls will follow.

The next area is the courtyard where we ate our meals on a round white plastic table and chairs that Corina would pull out of their small bedroom before every meal and put away after we'd eaten or finished playing cards. (We taught them a card game. More about that activity in a future blog.) On the left were the bedrooms. First the small bedroom that Corina, Fernando, and Mateo shared during our stay. I'm quite certain they moved out of the next TWO rooms to give them both to us for our stay. (Believe me, they would have it NO other way. We tried!) So we had a sort of small suite. The first room, a room with a wardrobe for our clothes, opened into our bedroom. In our bedroom we had cable TV! (We don't even have that in our own home.) It was mostly in Spanish and we didn't have it on much. I must admit it was interesting to see all the designers on "Trading Spaces" dubbed in Spanish.
 
Our meals were wonderful. A variety of fresh fruit and vegetables, most of which we are familiar with, but somehow taste so much sweeter there! Papaya, pineapple (pina), watermelon (sandilla), cantelope (melone), banana (banano) for breakfast! We had fresh papaya and orange juice, fresh pineapple juice, (SO tasty!!!), fresh grapefruit juice, fresh 'limonade', and another juice made from a large fruit that fell off the tree while we were there. It's called granadia and is unlike anything else I have tasted. They were quite happy that it had ripened while we were there. It was a special treat. We ate rice (arroz) and beans (frijoles), tortillas and fresh queso (cheese). Queso frito (fried cheese) and tostones (fried plantain) were a couple of favorites. For the most part the food was simple, very fresh, and delicious!

Our host family folks were gracious, generous, and wonderful in every aspect. There is no question in my mind that they will consider us to be part of the family para siempre (forever!). And that is a very special gift.

Currently reading : Stargirl Release date: 2000

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Not so sweet dreams...
Category: Travel and Places

I should be sleeping right now...nestled in my cocoon bed, beneath our cloud like down comforter, peacefully sawing logs, mouth open, lost to the world. Instead, I have tossed and turned in restless, disturbing dreamland until my only recourse is to get up, shake it off, and try again later when the remnants of the dreams have faded.

It's been like that since we arrived home from Nicaragua. The first few nights, my restless dreams had me at the school we worked on in Managua. I'd awaken shortly after nodding off, the smell of paint in my nose. In the dark, our bedroom walls appeared to be the green we were painting the walls of the school. And as I stumbled to the bathroom, carefully avoiding the paint pans and ladders I knew had to be scattered about, I was sure that anything I touched would leave me branded with wet paint. The color was "Cucumber Salad". It's an intense limey shade of green. There was a darker shade (also green) we painted the columns and some of the trim. The colors were bright and brought a wonderful new life to the scarred walls of the school. I wish I could say the same for my dreams. Green is a peaceful color, isn't it? Why did it leave me feeling so agitated and unsettled.

The dream I awoke from tonight was the type that was stuck on replay, actually more like a skipping LP (for those of us who are old enough to remember such antiquities.) It had something to do with the little bottles of lotion we're still barely allowed to carry on planes. 3.4 ounces, that's all they can hold and they must be in a quart size plastic ziplock bag, or they'll throw them away.

I have a small tube of Aquapour. It's mostly made up of petroleum jelly and I use it to keep my lips from drying out. The small tubes are very hard to find. I'd actually bought this one along with 5 others on ebay. Saturday afternoon, at the final carry on baggage check in Managua, the one right before we boarded the plane, a nice man in latex gloves pulled it out of my bag and tossed it into the trash. An even nicer lady from New York who was in line behind me (she had red hair the color of the crayon marked "red" in the countless boxes of Crayolas I unpacked at the school), asked if I had a plastic bag in that suitcase. When I said yes, she gestured to the nice man, who then pulled my tiny tube of Aquapour out of the trash and put it in my ziplock bag. Satisfied the rules were being followed, he then zipped up my suitcase and with a smile, sent me on my way. It shouldn't puzzle me why I'm now having nightmares.

I travel so much I don't understand why this time, I seem to be having trouble adjusting to the comforts of home. We have a heated waterbed. Don't laugh. I know it's a very 70's hippy like thing to possess. But I'm telling you, there's nothing like crawling into the soft warm and cozy comfort of that bed after a long hard drive home. Our bed in Nicaragua was comfortable enough, although their approach to sheets confused us a little. They would change them often and leave a sheet folded up under one of our two pillows. The bed "spread" was also like a sheet. We weren't exactly sure what went underneath and what went on top. I know it seems simple enough, but you'd understand if you were there to see what I'm talking about. In any case, we only needed one sheet to cover us through the 70 degree nights.

Maybe it's the quiet at home that takes getting used to after we have adjusted to the nighttime sounds of Barrio Altagracia where we stayed in Managua. Perhaps it was because of the holiday season that fireworks seemed to go off anytime throughout the night. Sometimes in the wee hours I heard the construction workers at work shoveling, scraping, rumbling about. Since the water only ran at our casa from 4 AM to 6 AM, someone would always be up to fill the buckets and barrels. I'm assuming it was that person who would sweep the courtyard outside our open window while they waited for the vessels to fill. And then there was the dog who'd bark at will. The dog's name was "Kitty". (Maybe her barking was a payback for her name.)

Our morning alarm clock was the cooing of the pigeons. The rest of the members of our group were staying in homes several blocks away from ours. They all had a rooster to contend with. I'll take the pigeons. They were insistent, but their purring was a little easier to take first thing in the morning. And from what the group had to say, the rooster didn't wait until morning to start spreading the word.

So maybe it's the night noises I'm readjusting to. At home we might hearing the fridge running, or an occasional pop of the fire in the woodstove. There's also the constant tick tock of the clock we wind every evening. Maybe I can talk the neighbors into lighting a few bottle rockets in the yard. I wonder if that would help?

So now I'm yawning and I'll try again. I wish you sweet and happy dreams tonight and always... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Currently reading : Crooked Little Heart: A Novel By Anne Lamott Release date: 18 May, 1998

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