Sunday, June 23, 2013


... your sunday sillies ...

I had felt it the day before.

Papi had written about it on a Facebook status last night, and I had to smile that we both felt it only a day apart.

We feel like we're home.

It only took 5 months.

I'm pretty sure the dogs have something to do with it.  Dogs make any place home.

However, I know that it is mostly the fact that there are no workers here in our yard.

It's OUR yard now.

I can go into the new casita and use it as an exercise room without the worry of men looking at me.

We can run to the gate in our scivvies in hopes of catching the kite surfers on film, as they perform for all the people along the shore, flipping over those waves like an insignificant speed bump in the road.

They play with their air time, landing their boards back down to the high seas, as if to say, "C'mon!  Try this!  You can do it!  It's really easy!"

I can hear the waves all day, instead of the sound of saws, hammers and silly songs by the men that kept me laughing, even though they probably didn't know I giggled.

The first day without the workers, I heard birds.

Papi and I had never heard birds.  We thought that perhaps there weren't any around this area, because we were so close to the ocean.

I thought that maybe it was because they were all at the resorts, zooming in when people aren't looking at their plate, nabbing some potato and zipping off again before the unsuspecting diner even knew.

No, it was the fact that we couldn't hear them over the din of construction.

The flit about, singing to one another in hopes that one of them will find the fruit that is ripe enough to share.

Hopefully, that fruit is hidden, or the people in the village will throw rocks at them to stop them from eating their food.

We know how it works here.

People are desperate, and you can't hold that against them.  They just need to feed their families.

But we can hear the birds now.

My veggie garden is growing.

In a few months, I'll have my first crop of home grown food.

My own food, to eat in this house that is finally ours.

As much as it has cost us all of our savings, it's ours.

As much as it still needs work, and the work seems that it will be never ending, that work is ours.

As much as the puppies rip up and destroy everything in the yard, it's our yard to repair.

As much as the pool needs drudging tending to 7 days a week, that water that is slowly getting clean enough for me to swim in again, is ours.

Ours to share with our new friends, like The Carpenter, Our Fave's Mom and family, and countless others that we know enough to trust to let into our home.

We walk the dogs along the beach now that they are trained enough for recall and most of the shots are up to date.

The coastline is not ours, we just borrow it when the ocean isn't busy with it.

That vast blue is our neighbour, and we must respect her.

We visit her when she looks like she is rested enough to have uninvited guests, which isn't very often.

She has a lot of work to do.

Don't get in her way or she'll pull you into an area that will swallow you whole.

She has a temper, but she is a good, clean neighbour.

Unlike my kitchen.

It occurred to me upon editing the latest YouTube show, that all you ever see is my dirty kitchen.  I guess that's because all I'm ever doing is cooking food.

In OUR kitchen.

In OUR house.

It's ours.

We're finally in Casa Paraíso.

We're home.

i love myself totally in the now

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