winter wonderland

Cold.

Oh, so very cold, and it's not even the cold spell yet.

Everyone is talking about the cold that is supposed to come through.

Off to Value Village we went, me in my super duper special pajamas that are the only thing warm I have for pants, and layer upon layer of t-shirt and sweatshirt.

Some of my baby sister's friends lent me a pair of boots and a jacket.  So sweet!

At Value Village I got 2 pairs of jeans and a sweater dress, new socks, leg warmers and a toque.

I can't believe the size I am now.

Well, I won't be losing any of my ankle weight on this trip.

Wheat free, dairy free cheesecake!  Jeeeeezus it was good.

After all the chocolate I've eaten in the Dominican Republic, I am officially tired of it.

It sits in the cupboard winking at me when I open the cupboard door, but I immediately look behind it for other food.

Can you believe it?  I'm tired of it?

But yesterday, I saw a rice milk chocolate bar!  I had to have it!

No, I will not be losing weight on this trip.

I'm up so early, because I'm still on Dominican Time.  I thought I'd chat with Papi, then I realized, he won't be getting up for some time.

So, I'll tell you about my flight.

When we got to the airport, I was whisked away with a tiny peck from Papi.

They threw me in a wheelchair and stole me.

The people at the counter didn't understand I had a temporary Visa and over charged me for my 'extra time' spent in the Dominican.

Awesome.

Then they had to pull me out of the waiting area to watch them search my bag, because I had coffee.

Perhaps, I was smuggling something, not just bringing the best coffee ever to my baby sister and family.

Squishing every bag, it was important to feel every inch of those plastic casings to be sure it was only coffee.

Done, back I go up to the top to speak with someone who lost their leg in a motorcycle accident.

Even though our injuries were different, we had similar therapy to learn to walk again.  It was quite fascinating to speak with him.

The plane ride was uneventful, but catching my connection?

Something out of the movies.

I swear to mother of baby Jesús that I need a camera crew to follow me for the thrills life hands me.

They were going to make me miss my flight because my first plane came in late, until Adam O. saved the day!

He ran me around the airport, pushing my wheelchair like we were in a chariot race.

Sternly telling everyone I needed to catch my flight, we budged in front of every dirty look there was to receive.

No matter how much I realized that his co-workers had a lot of animosity towards this guy, I kept telling him he was giving me the best customer service, and that the company would hear about it.

I'll tell you, he got me back to my flight, when his boss said it couldn't be done.  On I went.

Then when I got to my sister's house, she washed my clothes and washed the business card I got from him to give him a rave review with his company.

At least I know he's Adam O.

I'll do some digging and figure out how to do this.

Man deserves a commendation.

When I got off the 2nd plane I was the last one off, of course, because they wanted me in the wheelchair again.

My poor baby sister and family were waiting for me at what was 2 in the morning my time, but late enough for them.

This morning I'm over the jet lag and my baby sister is dragging my mother and I to Banff.

Even colder than it is here.

But I'll see moose!!!!!

i feel good about myself

only happy when it rains

Everything is in Dominican Time here.

Including my healing.

But my steps are getting stronger, and yesterday, I made my first home cooked meal in 3 months.

Nothing special.

Canned diced tomatoes stewed with onions, garlic and red pepper, over top quinoa.

These past few months of the Papi diet, aka: eating wheat and sugar every day, have taken a toll on Bubble Girl.

My food allergies definitely add to my chemical imbalance.

My obsessing and anxiety are out of control.

Non-stop.

A lovely Blogger Friend, and amazing writer at Lesbians In My Soup!, really got the essence of what I was trying to say yesterday.

I'm only happy when I have something to bitch about.

I bitch about anything.

Everything.

So, when I'm happy about something, you really know it's genuine.

I'm generally a happy person, and on a regular basis, I catch myself off guard thinking to myself, "I really love my life," but I was brought up to bitch and complain.

It's the way I remember my family as a child.

I think the reason the waves have made me crazy, is because I haven't had enough of anything else to focus on.

Lying around like a bloated manatee will do that to me.

I'm not very good at staying still.

I'm also not very sane when you take music away from me.

It's my meditation.

I also need regular exercise to release the endorphins that help me stay on top of my mood swings and eating disorder.

All of a sudden, as I was making healthy food yesterday, followed by playing my piano, I realized I didn't hear those waves all too often.

The white noise disappeared with the crackle of onions and garlic sauteing in my cast iron pan.

The action of cooking drowned out the drone.

Playing my piano, doing my best to memorize lyrics to the 3 Spanish songs I know, really took me away from everything.

Hell, I didn't even hear The 6-pack barking.

And I know THAT never ceases.

So, moral of my story is, this has been a tortuous 3 months with this ankle from hell.

But I'm making healthier meals as of yesterday.

I'm playing my piano as of this week.

I'm taking baby steps without my crutches.

I even started teaching as of Friday that just passed.

No, I am NOT good at sitting still.

This I know.

Maybe now that I'm literally getting back up on my feet and eating healthier I'll stop obsessing as well.

That would be nice.

I can only handle one obsession at a time.

It's time to search for my SuperGirl Panties again.

I know they're in here somewhere.

I suppose I'll have to do the laundry to find them.

I also need a little more music, healthy foods and some gentle, seated yoga.

That should bring me closer to them.

developing healthy eating habits becomes easier every day

Garage Band

... your sunday sillies ...

Well, it wasn't the throngs of children I thought it would be.

No, it was quite a bit different than how I had it pictured in my mind.

I waited patiently, sitting on my little foot stool, outside Casa Paraíso.

In hand, I had my Sharpie Pen drawings of the first two notes I'd teach them, along with the list of names I had compiled of all those interested.

Nobody came.

Eventually, I saw one child nearing my direction.

Ah!  Dominican Time!  I see!

But alas, he was only going to watch them build the house next door.

So, I decided to take a stroll through the village.

Once more, I felt like the pied piper.

Not to mention, a little like the town cryer, "It's music day!  Do you want to sing with me?"

All I need is a solid brass hand bell to ring it on Saturdays when it's time to start!

One by one they'd follow, and when I was done, that list of 40 children was reduced to about 12.

No problem!  I'm good with that!

We all scampered to the beach in front of our house, and the children automatically planted themselves firmly on a log.

One problem: I had to yell above the waves!

By the time we were done, my voice was so weak, it sounded like it used to after an ear damaging concert when I was a teen.

No, this is not going to work.

I can't have them in my yard, because of the danger of the pool and puppies.

My foresight was right in that they'd be like Mexican jumping beans.  It's hard to teach, PLUS keep an eye on these little critters.

I don't need someone drowning in the pool or harassing a dog so much that they get bit.

So, next week, we're in the garage!  Our new digs!  The Garage Band.

No yelling, shelter from rain and safety from The Donkey who is sure to bowl over anyone who is close to the height of my hips.

Not to mention, we'll have the acoustics of an A-Frame room!

Furthermore, I won't have to watch them pee on our property.

I'm not kidding.

Middle of the lesson, they had to pee, and one by one they walked to the corner of our lot and peed on our wall right in front of me.

I think they had a bit too much fun doing this.

Papi was a bit appalled when I laughed about it, but I assured him, "Honey, they pee on our wall anyway, so it's nothing new.  The ocean is their washroom."

I can't tell you how many human feces we've seen along the shoreline.

Anyway, there are always a few trouble makers, but I'll tell you, if I'm not getting paid to teach, then I won't have them in my class.

I gave one a strict warning with the first set of 'rules', "You're here to sing.  If you don't want to sing, you go to your house.  I've told you twice, third time you go."

My Spanish was sufficient enough to get the point across, so he adhered to my wishes, however, I'm pretty sure I'll be learning his name first.

All in all, it was a fun 30 minutes and they learned 3 notes, 2 beats and a chorus of the song.

Afterward, one of the mothers, seeing that I was teaching children for free, took it upon herself to announce that she is Christian.

I suppose because it's something some people with religion do; help the children with no pay.

I told her, "I'm Jewish."

She touched my arm as if I needed consoling, and said, "Oh, that's OK.  You're still doing it for the kids."

Well!

I'm really glad that's 'OK' and that I have your approval!

She told me her son plays the piano at his school, so it looks like I have the beginning of the band I need!

Slowly but surely, we'll make it.

And I'm positive that more will join us next week.

I need that bell.

i believe in my ability to change the world on a small scale with the work i do

rooster.

So early!

I think that people here don't have alarm clocks and they get up when the roosters sing.

I am so not used to this.

When we first got here, I had to be up early for the workers.

Now that I'm teaching music, the classes are early as well, but I'm going to have to be up early to accomplish everything that I've set out to do in a day anyway.

I am busy, and yesterday, Papi and I brought in the Pathetic Puppy to talk about getting her fixed.

While I was there, I asked about getting the AAAS to come to my village and sterilize the dogs here, and when the Canine Quarterback found out where I lived, she responded, "You're in the heartworm capital!!"

She ran back in and grabbed medication for all the dogs she could and came out saying, "You are now the outreach person for Las Canas."

Ok then!  I suppose I am!

It looks like I have another volunteering position.

Oh, I wanted to help here.

I got what I wanted.

Village dogs health.

Village children's choir.

Dream Project, where I have an 8 a.m. start.

Seriously.

That means I have to leave the house at 7:30, but have to get up at 6:45.

This may not mean a lot to you morning people who have been doing this for years, but I am not a morning person and haven't gotten up this early for any reason in a long time.

Even before the motorcycle accident, I worked a day job that ended at midnight.

So, this is hard!

But here's the good part: both times I've gone to work with the music teacher, he's been late.

I sit patiently with all the kids and wait.

We are all there.

Teacher is not.

But nobody is going to fire him, because it's just the way it is here in the Dominican Republic.

Dominican Time.

It's crazy!

To my advantage, when I was trying to get there to see the people, we had no power for 4.5 days, and I didn't get messages that asked me to be there for a certain day.

Then I didn't get phone calls, because the power outage killed my phone.

In Canada, I wouldn't have been considered for this position, because there is no way someone would want a tardy worker, or someone they couldn't contact.

But there I was, both days on time like the good Canadian I am, waiting for the person who's actually getting paid to show up.

Anyway, I had a great day teaching today.  I'm responsible for teaching 2 tiny girls piano.

Then when I was finished teaching today, the MusicMan wanted to play some music with me!

He is a great guitar player.

He would play guitar, I would sing; Police, Bob Marley, Beatles and more, then I played the jazz song on piano that he had given me to learn for the kids, while he would solo.

We played while the children would watch and move to the beat.

It was so much fun!  I have something to add to the New Life List.  Sit around and play music with my new friend.

He has all the contacts I need to start playing with others and for a music studio, albeit it's in the capitol.

I'll have to save that for when I'm ready to record, and for sure, I have enough to do for now.

I will have to get up early to get it all done.

Looks like I need a rooster.

i attract, welcome and accept talented and successful people to my team

and down i go ...

How do we wake up with faith and hope, then slide into despair and the Pit of Doom by the end of the day?

Or rather, how does my chemical imbalance continue to pillage my mind, stealing my light?

I don't know about you, but my emotions can change for the worst with one phone call.

That's what happened yesterday when that one phone call represented loss.

It has nothing to do with Mr. Lumpy, because of course, true to Dominican Time, the week wait has come and gone and there's no word.

In Canada, if it was serious, they would have called right away, but I have to remember where we live, and their idea of 'prompt'.

No, this phone call was a long awaited one that I didn't want to make, but bit the bullet and did it anyway.

It's my former recording studio/engineer mentor.   He had given me books to use for studying, and during the sewage flood in 2011, they were destroyed.

I suppose he has another person to mentor, as he had called 4 days into us moving here asking for them back.

I had tried to call him when the disaster hit and we had word about the loss of his books, but he's not too good at returning phone calls.

So, I left it, a few years past by and here he is calling me looking for them.

Well, we chatted yesterday.  I finally put some money into Skype and use that as my phone to talk to people back home, and called him.

But there was so much strain in hearing his voice and the reminder of all that is withdrawn from my life now.

The pain of knowing that the motorcycle accident took away so many possibilities, is sometimes too immense for my weak spirit.

He said, "You sound scared," but I couldn't tell him why, I just replied, "I am."  I flippantly blamed it on how hard things are here in this new world.

He didn't need to know I'm fretting over Mr. Lumpy, nor that I was on the verge of tears for having to hear the voice that helped me so much that I had to let go after my accident.

Letting go.  Asking my angels for more support.

My angels were so abundant in the morning, and by the evening, I was asking them to take me with them.

"Why can't you just take me now?  Why can't I go to a new life and try again, because seriously, what the fuck am I here for anyway?  Can't you just take me?  I want to be with my Fuzzy Family that are so lucky to have moved on to a new hemisphere."

When my emotions were submerging me under that colossal blanket of agony, I stared at the gun that lies on my bedside table for a little while.

I touched it with curiosity, thinking about how easy it would be to make it my last and final friend.

I won't do it, not because it's cheating myself of a life I was handed, but because I know how much pain I would bring to those who love me.  I would never intentionally harm anybody who loves me.

I need them too much.

To put them through that pain would be the worst act I could ever inflict upon another.

Instead, I cried until I couldn't breathe, then asked Papi for one of his magic 'put me to sleep' pills.

I guess, when I asked my angels to help me 'let go', they gave me a doozy.

I don't know why yesterday was the day I decided to call him, it just kinda happened.

Letting go of loss, people who have moved on, my prior life.

I had moments yesterday morning where I felt that I was really here for something, that I was here for benefit to this world in some way.

Then the night came and with the darkness brought the shadow in my heart that tells me there's no goal in my life.

Papi woke up late in the day, and told me all the things I'd done wrong while he slept to add to my already shattered state.

He even got mad at me for crying.

The way he speaks to me right now is unbearable, but he says the same about me.

Maybe he's really serious about trying to cut down on the pop and his withdrawal is making him mean, or maybe it's because he's in pain from falling off the ladder and has no more pain killers.  This also means he cut them cold turkey.

Maybe it's many things that I don't know about, but his tone made it all the worse.

I need love and trust from myself and from him if I'm going to make it through this life.

all my relationships are loving and harmonious 

if i could pop you like a zit ...

Communication in the Dominican Republic doesn't need to have a language barrier to make it difficult.

It just isn't their strong suit.

Mind you, it's not the strong suit of some friends who seem to have gone dorment since this all started, echoing the experience after my motorcycle accident, when people just didn't know what to say, so instead of supporting me, they merely vanish along with their awkwardness.

All I can say is, I'm grateful for the few that have said words of strength.  YOU lift me up.

"Come back on Monday for the biopsy, the doctor will be ready," said our attending.

So, I freaked out all weekend, having never had a biopsy before.

I had panic attacks.  I cried.  There were more than a few Hurricane Andréa sightings as I was at the bottom of the Pit of Doom once more.

No matter how hard I tried to calm down, my mind just whispering, "Monday, you're mine.  Monday, it all comes down.  Monday ..." like some stalker calling me on the phone every hour to torment me.

Only, I couldn't hang up.

Well, Monday came and I was a mess.  I had done so well the day before with everyone telling me it was just a cyst and I actually felt that I believed it, but the day came and I was hooped again.

Off to the hospital we went, and after 2 hours of waiting the appropriate Dominican Time to see the doctor for our 2:30 appointment, he asked us, "So, what can I do for you today?"

Really?  You're for real right here?  Papi and I looked at each other with disbelief, like he'd just barfed shards of glass through our already thin skin.

We started from the beginning of the story, sounding monotonous, because the story now FEELS tiresome.

He had me disrobe right there, felt Mr. Lumpy for a moment then said, "It's probably benign, but we should do the test anyway because it's on the lymph node.  Come back tomorrow after fasting for the blood tests and after the results we'll book you a biopsy."

You're fucking kidding me, right?  I panicked all weekend for you to push around Mr. Lumpy and tell me to go starve myself?

Now I have to deal with this bullshit for a few more days?

Well, we did what we were asked, and the blood tests were ready for that afternoon and he went over them and told us to come back tomorrow for the biopsy at 9 a.m.

We were there, he wasn't.

He showed up around 11.  Dominican Time.

The biopsy was finally done at about 12:30.

It really didn't hurt all that much, so really, I was afraid of nothing.

Again, he said, "It's probably benign."  The only problem is, there's a mark on my mamm where the needle went in, but that's not where Mr Lumpy resides.

Mr. Lumpy is about 3 cm lower, and my damn tit is still just as itchy as it was the day I started complaining about it.

Now we wait for a week to find out that the results say, 'benign', then we go for a 2nd opinion.

After that, I carry my ass off to Canada to get the cancer gene test, where I get to go be in pain from the temperature difference.

I'm so sick of all this that I just don't even care anymore.  I honestly don't.  I'm done crying, I'm done being afraid, I'm done worrying.

I'm fucking pissed off.

This was not what moving here was about, but all of a sudden it's all about Mr. Lumpy.

Well, you know what Mr. Lumpy?  You can just fucking sit there and do whatever you have to do for a week.  For a month.  I don't care.

Grow if you want to, go away if you get bored now that I refuse to be entertained by you anymore, but Mr. Lumpy, I'm done.

The depression Mr. Lumpy has put me in has robbed me of all strength and energy.

This is not living.  If you're going to kill me, get it over with.  If you're not, then fuck off.

If I could pop you like a zit, you'd be MY victim.

Go bug someone else your own size.  Like a cockroach.

At this point, I feel if this really was something sinister, I doubt my angels would put me through the wringer to find out.

I'm through with your pestering.

loving myself heals my life ... i nourish my body and soul

scratch that itch.

Being the drama queen I am, I thought there must have been something sinister going on.

Cancer!  Of course!  Because a lot of my family have been afflicted with it, it must be!

I'd heard that day about Angelina Jolie removing her breasts in a preventative measure against the cancer gene.

Not to mention, sure enough, while I'm in a country that doesn't really make me confident with their medical system, it would be now that the horrible things happened, right?!

I went online to search for proof of my demise, googling, 'itchy boob' and found a lot of women with the same problem.

There are a few different diseases, but I didn't have the 'burning' that accompanied, nor do I have any lumps or swelling.

Other than the fact, of course, that I've been scratching it so much that my nipple is a little angry.

But I kept looking and searching and blammo!  There it was.

Allergies.

I'm so allergic to chemicals and while we don't have a washing machine and while I don't want to rub the skin off my knuckles anymore, we bring it in to the hard working women 20 minutes away in Cabarete.

I remember picking up my items and that awesome pretty smell was just wonderful!

Putting on my clothes, I found it to be refreshing, instead of the stink that accumulates from wearing the same clothes over and over.

But that pretty aroma is the problem.

It's no wonder it's my privates that are so damn itchy, when clothes are smack dab against them, rubbing in the heat, releasing all the chemicals onto my skin.

Even yesterday, when I told Papi of my silent drama that was going on without his knowledge, and upon finding the result with relief, he told me, "Yeah, these clothes feel heavy with whatever they use."

No kidding.  Weighed down with chemicals.

So, now the problem is, I wait.  We're back on Dominican Time as we wait for word about what happens next with that damn machine.

The washing machine tech came and finally gave me the answer we needed.

The machine will not work here, because it is digital and the sine, square or whatever else wave it runs on isn't working with our electrical system.

He told me he would write them an email and ask if we could exchange for a good old dial system that won't fail us.

I'll probably have to call and nudge them for an answer for another month.

We have had this damn machine in our house for 2.5 months now.  Nada.

No laundry, and two visits from the tech, not to mention an upgrade of our electrical, not just for the machine, but what we needed to do to get electrical working should have worked for the machine if it worked for Papi's air conditioning he desperately needed to sleep.

Anyway, at least the Google search relieved me of the drama and now I can just ask the angels to perhaps, maybe get this Dominican Time to speed up a bit?

That and from this point forward, until I get that damn machine, at least my bras and undies will be washed by hand.

I'm not going through this much longer.

Sometimes, I can't wait for the workers to leave so that I can strip down and scratch.

One thing I did learn about while going through my boob drama, was that in order to get a doctor here, it's much different than in Canada.

You don't just 'go get a doctor'.  First, you go to the hospital and there you will be given a specific doctor for your ailment.

Then, it's up to each individual to keep a medical record of the results, dates, doctors seen etc.

They don't keep a file on you here.  No paper trail or records to show any history that a doctor might need for symptoms etc.

You must be accurate in your records, or clues could go missing, and you won't have the support you need.

Well, I have to go get my ear looked at and I'm a little afraid of the system here.

I can't really hear out of my right ear, because I have 0% pressure in it from my jaw moving during my Brace Face expedition for 2 years.

I know in Canada, they said to wait until the shrapnel was off, then they'd put a little tube in my drum, release the pressure and I'd have my hearing back.

It scares me with the language barrier as to what might happen here.

Well, today we go to see if we can fix my ear without losing my hearing permanently.

Wish me luck.

i make intelligent choices

blame it on the rain

This week, we haven't been able to keep up our 'excursion to the beach' bargain.

It seems that when our friends back home in Vancouver have a lot of sun, we get all their rain.

I don't mind so much.

The rain here is warm.

Plus!

When it rains it means our lazy asses don't have to go water the garden.

That saying, 'When it rains it pours', is MORE than true here.

A lot of the time, Vancouver's bad weather is that horrible misty rain, which floats up and under people's umbrellas.

No point in an umbrella when it's that fine mist.

Here?

No such thing.

Never fine mist.

When it rains, it literally pours.

Everyone runs for cover.

Our Favourite was here yesterday, to find out what time we could drive Our Fave's Mom to her sister's house.

She has a best friend in her sister.  Her sister will make her happy.

Even though we eventually went for that walk on the beach yesterday, I know that a best friend always makes us much more content.

We are her personal chauffeur, as we gather all her, our godson, and the kids' belongings and pack them into our little Carolla.

I always make Our Fave's Mom sit in front, even though every time she tries to sit in the back, because it's the rule in our car.  Visitors in front.

Most folks have motorcycles, so as we drive along that narrow street of her family's village, people look in at her like she's something pretty fancy, and I feel like all she's missing is a tiara.

Anyway, it was raining and Our Favourite was here to find out when we'd be leaving.  I asked him to go tell his mother that we'd be there in 10 minutes.

20 minutes if you count in that everything is Dominican Time.  Even ex-pats get stuck in that time warp.

He told me he couldn't go tell her until it stopped raining.

I thought maybe my lack of Spanish was hearing the wrong thing, but nope.

He couldn't walk to his house because it was raining.

The kids here don't go to school when it rains and even shops shut down.

But it wasn't until his mother said that the rain hurts her and gives her a headache that I finally understood.

In Vancouver, the rain debilitated me, as every injury I had from the motorcycle accident was inflamed and I would lie writhing, unless I was whacked out on pain meds.

Here, the rain is warm, and to me it's lovely, but when you've lived here from birth, well, the rain is cold and it hurts.

It's pretty amazing how one woman's pain is another's joy.

It's so true to everything in life.

It's all relative.

Like my Big Sister reminded me, even though I see our house as the size of an average abode in Vancouver, here it is a mini mansion.

Everything is relative.

All I know is, here, I am grateful for the rain, and people look at me like I'm nuts as I walk around in a tank top and shorts, smiling, because I know once the sun comes back out, I'll be dry in 10 minutes.

I put my most admired, heaviest sweatshirt on Our Favourite, and off we went to drive around our royalty.

Indeed, I did my best to make her feel comforted yesterday.

Even if our lack of Spanish somehow had us buying her sister's chicken their feed for the month.

OK kids.

The buck-buck-BUCKAW stops here.

... did you get my chicken joke? ...

Time to put up some more boundaries.

And learn some more Spanish.

i love my family and friends, even if they don't understand me completely

more time

The angels really do have a sense of humour.

And cats really do have 9 lives.

I asked the angels to tell Psycho Kitty that he would be free from pain.

They obliged.

However, this didn't mean it was time for our little love to leave our arms.

I am sure grateful I wasn't specific about HOW I wanted him to be free from pain.

If I was clear-cut about what I was asking for, he wouldn't be with us today.

With tears streaming down my face, and Papi looking like he was trying to be invisible, we dragged our feet into the vet's office.

Remember how I was saying he still looks like Psycho Kitty from the eyes up?

Dr. Bob told us he has a few more days in him.

His eyes are bright.

He's eating.

Albeit, he IS on his way out.

So, now it's time for us to do hospice work.

He gave us enough medicine to get him through the weekend, buying us a little more time for goodbye.

What it was fixing us with, was an opportunity to allow him to leave with dignity.

The medicine is to make him comfortable, and ease the pain, but mostly to allow him to be himself and enjoy his last days how HE would like it.

It worked.

He slept on the bed ALL night!!!

This morning, he did his famous forehead bumps!!!

He was also being himself, trying to bite my glasses off my face.

This has always been his favourite pastime; trying to steal my glasses.

He used to do it with G'ma's hearing aid while she slept.

It was always fun to do the hearing aid search at 7 a.m. under beds and couches after that little bugger had played with it all night.

We even saw him try to clean himself.

To no avail, but he tried.

Last night, we cut off all the blood encrusted in his fur from his chest and neck, and feces that were stuck to his tail.

He looks absolutely ridiculous, but cleaner.

It must feel better than being so dirty.

Cats like to be clean.

Waking up to find our Psycho Kitty being himself was really quite beautiful.

The angels did answer my plea.

He is not suffering and we get to see our little friend off how he would want to go; loving us to his last day, instead of hiding under the bed whimpering.

My greatest wish has been that he would go when HE decides.

I just couldn't handle to see him suffering.

It was too much to bear.

Maybe, now he could just go in his sleep, peacefully.

Maybe I could be specific and ask the angels for this?

I'll tell you though, I'm sure grateful I get to see him acting the way he normally would, even if he is a bit smelly and there's blood and drool everywhere.

At least his spirit is here.

He is Psycho Kitty.

He has decided that he gets to live his last days as slow as he pleases, being true to Dominican Time.

We get to enjoy it.

my thoughts are my reality and i'm thinking of a bright new day

more to learn

Papi and I were given some advice on the DR1 Forum that we're taking.

Best to get everything in place before we do the deed of 'letting her go due to lack of funds'.

We shouldn't say we're 'firing' her.  We need to keep on really good terms with her, because we need our safety.

It's also best not to talk about the theft, or there will be hostility and bad feelings, leading to possible security issues as well.  I just have to swallow my pride and let her think she has one over us.

The last piece of advice, is we need to get a signed paper into the city's books that show how long she worked for, how much we paid her, her hours, and her signature.

To fire someone, you have to pay severance.  I do think that's fair, and I'm glad they have that law here for people's benefit.

However, the other half we did hear about earlier, that is now confirmed, is they'll take you to court and say they worked for longer than you're saying, and that they earned more money that you paid them, and that you owe them more money, ie: another Mr. Extortion.

The locals will win every time.  Expats don't have a hope in hell, unless they get that paper signed before the deed is done.

So, being the crafty, thieving, sly one she is, we'll definitely take these people's experience into consideration and heed their warning.

Not to mention, we couldn't get the locks changed yesterday.  We can't let her go until the locks are changed.

I can't wait for all this to be done.  Seriously.  She didn't even clean yesterday.  I don't know what she did while we were out dealing with dogs again, but it definitely wasn't cleaning.

While we were at the shelter/vet, we also had MORE confirmed information that people WILL poison your dogs here.

It's such a normal occurrence, that they sell poison kits for it.

You see, we're going to pick up another dog today.  Her face is front and center on the AAAS Facebook page.

She's a cranky lookin' mama that we're told is a GREAT guard dog.

She is traditionally an outside dog, and when we spoke to the Canine Quarterback there about keeping her that way for extra outside security, she reinforced what everyone else here has had to say.

If we leave the dog outside at night, they'll throw poisoned meat over the fence, then the next day while you're grieving their death, they'll come back and rob you.

So, mama's gonna be livin' in the lap of luxury.  A Canadian dog, living inside, and probably on the bed.

When we finally get one that is big enough, that is.  We're STILL waiting for our money transfer.  Visa is loving us right now.

I'm still learning patience for the 'Dominican Time'.

Anyway, we're getting her and one more.  We heard there was a female rottweiler looking for a home.  We'll take her!  Sold!

When we spoke to the Canine Quarterback about the new mama and one more, she asked us, "What are you doing here?  Collecting dogs?!?!"

I reminded her, "We've only been here 6 weeks!  We're just getting started!"

If I can't have my goats, because our land is too small, then I'll be happy with the chaos of dogs.

Hopefully that will be an extra deterrent as well.

Dogs, a wall with broken glass on top, a stun gun (and another a little more deadly), a machete (that I am sharpening more every day and practising on coconuts), a bat, and soon to be bars on the windows.

Oh!

And prickly bushes outside windows as well.  The DR1 Forum taught us that one too.

Good info there, once you weed through the morons who are looking for advice on women.

Like, for example, "I've been sending money to a woman here and am finally coming to visit her.  Do you think she is just using me for my money?"

Dude, if you're stupid enough to be sending money to someone you don't know, and are falling for it being 'love', you shouldn't be moving here.

I promise you.

You'll be broke.

Or dead.

i am safe

our day

We went on an adventure.

We had to return our rental car.  We were spending way too much money on renting a vehicle.

All we have to do is hope for no more sick animals until our car is fixed.

True to 'Dominican Time', our car that was supposed to be looked at a week ago finally got looked at 2 days ago.

They said our car would be done yesterday, so off we went to return the rental.  Then when we spoke to them later, they said, "Tomorrow," which should mean today, but now it looks like we'll be waiting another day.

Hence today, we're trapped in our little house.

Anyway, to get back from the airport where we returned it, we had to make it back what would be a normal 45 minute drive to our little village.

First, we saw the price of taxis at the airport, that would get us home from Puerto Plata; $70 U.S.

Yeah, I don't think so.

We decided to walk to the main road and catch a bus.  The buses kinda pick you up anywhere, but we knew we'd seen one stop here before.

As we were walking, we were stalked by a taxi who wanted to haggle for our business to get us to Cabarete.  We finally got a price we wanted and chose to hop in.

When we got to Cabarete, we decided to have lunch and spent way too much because it was a tourist trap.  But I'll tell you, it was worth it to sit amongst the tourists and pretend we were on holiday for an hour.

I shared my chair space with a shy crab, who was half burrowed in the sand beside me.  He thought I couldn't see him, but I was watching him.  Every 2 seconds.  I didn't need to lose a pinky toe.

Luxury was over and it was time to head home and see how the fighting was going between the pool people and the house caretakers, so we went try to catch a cab home.

Each cab we saw was filled with about 7 people, not including the driver.

No room for gringos.

We just kept getting drivers wave their finger at us, "Nope.  Not this one."

We found what looked like a normal bus stop in Vancouver, which was housing the motorcycle taxi driver's asses.  I asked them if it was a bus stop that would take us to Las Canas, and we'd hit the jackpot!  Indeed it was!

While we waited for the bus to arrive, we had every motorcycle cab in the city asking us if we wanted to hire them, but everyone of them I said in Spanish, "Sorry, I'm too scared."

Especially when you see 99% of the motorcycles no longer have side view mirrors, because they all take them off to look 'cool', not to mention nobody wears a helmet.

They would just laugh at us, but no thank you pal.  I have a secret about life.  I like it.

We waited patiently and then we saw it.

Looking at the shape it was in, I was hoping it would make it to our place.  If the fender hanging and cracked windshield were an indication of how well they took care of it, anything could happen.

We tried to ask how much it cost, but he just waved us on to the back of the bus.

It's my worst nightmare to cozy up to some strange man beside me who had no idea that he was squishing me into a pancake, taking up more and more space the smaller I got.

Not to mention, it seemed like he was looking down my top.

Then a seat came open for two at the front.  I made my move, but a girl closer got it.

This happened about 4 times until I finally barrelled through and took the primo seat.  Got it!!!

It was our turn to get off the bus and we had seen every person giving 50 pesos, and prepared to do the same.

We handed him a $100 and he looked at us, gave us the finger movements that said, "More," and I indignantly said, "No way man!"

He shrugged his shoulders and curved one side of his lips in a mouth squint, and looked to the side with a nonchalant eyebrow lift as if to say, "Hey, I tried," and left it at that.

When it was our turn to leave, we alerted the door keeper and he let us out less than half a block from our road.

Customized bus stops.

It was fun to finally walk down our little dirt road, because we're always so busy running back and forth to the vet or the hardware store in our car.

It was nice to say hi to our neighbours instead of just waving our hellos.

After our little adventure from Puerto Plata to get to our home, it really felt like we were living a day just for us.

Until we came home to a yard full of strangers and children invading our space, and people entering our yard trying to sell us their family dogs.

i choose friends who love me and approve of me