is there a secret i'm missing?

This 'no walking' thing is impossible with 4 horribly behaved puppies.

Especially when you wake up to great piles of crap you have to pick up.

Then, if dealing with that didn't hurt enough, at first glance, I thought there was vomit all over the couch.

Upon nearing the sofa, I found out otherwise.

No, it was my entire bag of quinoa strewn from one end to the other.

Do you know how hard it is to sweep up quinoa?

It becomes static and flies everywhere when you brush it.  It doesn't go into the sweeping pan.

You know Mexican Jumping Beans?  It's sorta the same.

So, after I picked up the great masses of dog droppings on the floor, ...

... have you SEEN the size of the thug and the donkey?!?! imagine the poops ...

... I went to work on the quinoa.

Only to find, somebody with four legs had peed on the other side of the couch.

We're back to that again now, are we?  I thought we passed that puppy phase and everyone was allowed back on the couch again!

Oh, this couch is not ours.

The crap was beside it.

The piss was on it, and yes, there was quinoa in the piddle.

The quinoa was torn apart and pushed from one end to the other, and I sure hope the Fuzzy Family had a good time with the quinoa party, destroying a good chunk of my food that I don't have the strength to get up and cook.

No, this couch is not ours.

It belongs to them.

Those stinky little bastards we love so much.

How do we love such horrible creatures?!?!?!?

I did my best and cleaned up the crap, sopped up the piss, pouring vinegar on in hopes of squelching the putrid aroma that will fester in this heat for days to come, then swept as much quinoa as the pain would allow me.

"Rest.  No walking," the surgeon said.

Right.

I'll get to that after I go speak with Our Fave's Mom and Little Angel who are at the gate.

They know how to reel me in, and I'm just not rude enough to wave people away.

Sure, I'll walk so you can show me the gorgeous little boy with eyes from the heavens that entice me into watching this little tyke grow.

Oh, make sure to bring WeeHeart with all her enchanting energy as well, so that I couldn't possibly say, "I can't talk today," and follow my doctor's orders.

And for sure, bring along someone from the village so that I can't have a private conversation with you about the fact that your family has been lying to us and we can't be godparents with dishonest people.

"Rest.  No walking."

Who the hell on this earth can do this?!?!?  Can you?!?!?  How the fuck is this even possible?!?!?

If you know how to do this, please, enlighten me.

"Rest.  No walking."

Sure, right after I let the people in to come fix the washing machine, because our clothes stink so bad, you can smell them in Canada.

"Rest.  No walking."

Oh look!  Pescado Pal is at the gate wanting to sell me his hard working wares he caught in the ocean.

I've been up since 9, but it's now 12:30 and this is the first time I've rested my ankle.

"Rest.  No walking."

Well, my foot looks pretty swollen again.  This is not a good sign.

Neither is the pain that's shooting, or the throbbing that accompanies it.

Oh, but I'll rest.

Later.

i am capable of making healthy choices

A.W.O.L.

So, I've been off the blog for a few days.

I've been kinda 'troubled'.

I don't want to whine about the torn ligament in my ankle, because I've heard other people whine about being on crutches with a cast and thought, "Good thing you've never rolled off the hood of a car, flying through the air 15 feet, then landing on your head."

But now, I realize, that this is fucking brutal and feel for anyone who has to deal with it, as well.

At least after the motorcycle accident, I felt I was more able to try walking, and with the proper pain medication, I was able to push through the pain.

Now?  My other foot?  The one I've been hopping on for almost 3 weeks?

Well, it's royally fucked to the point that I can't walk on it, and they don't have proper pain meds here.

Not to mention, I can't even use the medicinal marijuana, because this month they're testing our blood again for our residency in the Dominican Republic.

I'm truly losing it now.

I have Breaking Bad to thank for keeping me company.

But seriously.

Instead of whining about lying around on my blob ass, that seems to be oozing and extending a mile a minute like a pancake spreading on a grill, I'll talk about Our Fave's Mom and her husband.

They keep asking for money, but doing it in a really sneaky way.

They told us that the husband's boss wasn't paying them and that they needed diapers and food.

We knew they were fishing for money, but didn't have any to give them anyway.

Then other day, we were out and saw the boss.

He told us it was a flat out lie and that he was considering firing the man because of other things he's been doing that are not tolerable.

Like stealing from him.

Then they told us they needed money to get the mom back to Gaspar Hernández, when all the while, she was still here.

I'm sorry, but I just can't be in friendships, or any other kind of relationship for that matter, with a liar.

I know they're desperate.

I understand how hard it is here, but we're not doing so great financially, either.  I guess we won't be seeing Little Angel anymore.

We didn't come here for dodging thieves and liars.

Neither did we come here for lying around in a fucking bed with feet up on pillows.

One thing I've learned, is wine is great to stop the whining.

It's kept me company while I lie around watching time pass by in my recent existence of 'my life is watching Netflix' a little more bearable.

So, no, I haven't been blogging for a few days, because I have fuck all to talk about, other than complaining about lying in bed and not being able to walk.

For that matter, I haven't been filming either.

Your Sunday Sillies YouTube show won't be happening this week.

It would be boring to watch me lie with my fucking legs up (and not in a sexy way), all day.

One foot with a torn ligament and the other with some weird ass fucking pain from using it too much.

Yeah.

Not very thrilling.

I haven't taught in days, because I can't walk and I miss the kids.

I didn't teach The Garage Band today either.

I'm just gonna lie here and fucking swear and whine a little more.

And for entertainment tonight?

Drink more wine to stop the whining.

i like long walks

here comes the fight ...

Bed.

All day yesterday, all day today.

Shots of pain in my foot and leg, and it didn't help that The Donkey did her best to knock me over again today, and I tried to save myself by using my ripped ankle to get her off.

Furthermore, I suppose going out Saturday night wasn't the BEST thing for me.

Housemaid looked at me like I was a wimp and kinda laughed at me when I said I just couldn't come by for the invite for a Sunday party in the village.

Yeah, well, my body isn't quite as strong as it used to be.  I gave up being strong after the motorcycle accident.

I accept these shots of pain as a warning.  I allow them to tell me I've done 'enough'.

I had told her I wanted to lie down for a few days until Papi got here, and I should have followed my intuition instead of allowing for someone to persuade me otherwise.

I feel so bad for the dogs.

I hear them acting out.

I read the sadness in their eyes that they can't be near me.

I sense the confusion.

"Why are these other people feeding me, but we're in the same house?"

It's OK my little loves.

Papi comes home in ONE MORE SLEEP and you'll feel things are back to normal.

I'LL feel things are back to normal.

The cats will be miserable again, because the dogs will be in the room.

That's OK.  They had a lovely week with some isolated time with me.

The inverter went out last night.

It wasn't the best sleep, listening to the white noise of the fan to try to keep me cool.

It was pretty hot, but Papi comes home in ONE MORE SLEEP to fix everything.

Papi's coming home tomorrow!!!!!  TOMORROW!!!!!!

At least I'll have my love to take care of me.

I'm staying in bed another day.

I think it finally hit me, after I realized that I truly have a nasty injury last night.

I can't just up and run about with a cast on my leg.

Housemaid will just have to find someone else to party with.

I know that she enjoys my time, as does Our Fave's Mom, as she called me a total of 16 times yesterday.

I understand, she's back in town and would love me to see Little Angel, but when you're tired and hurting, you kinda just want some quiet time.

I'm just too exhausted to even try to speak Spanish, so I studied it instead.

I spent the entire day filling out flashcards in the awesome new flashcard program I found: StudyBlue.

When I switched from iPhone to Galaxy, I had to make a whole new batch, and that's still considered studying.

An entire Sunday, filling in flashcards, instead of talking.

I'm tired.

I hurt.

I have a lot of healing to do.

I didn't even go downstairs for a healthy dinner.

Chocolate was on the menu, as I didn't have to get out of bed for that.

The novelty of my first cast has worn off and now I'm into the injury depression.

Chronic pain will do that.

I anticipated it, but hoped I could stay busy enough for it not to hit me.

No matter how much Housemaid tried to entertain me, there's just no escaping the injury depression.  It really is unavoidable.

It has arrived and Hurricane Andréa is just around the corner.

Time to mope in my bed, just in time for Papi to return.

You poor soul, Papi.

I am grateful for prozac.

Oh, but I'll fight that bitch tooth and nail, all the way down to the Pit of Doom.

i have the ability to choose happiness

home

... 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

i scream, you scream

Oh, how we are armed.

In more ways than one.

Guns, yes.

I even have my cane that has a REALLY sharp, heavy edge to it, plus 2 machetes, a stun gun and a baseball bat.

But mostly, we're thrilled with being girded with baby formula.

Our Fave's Mom sends Little Angel over without anything.

All the time.

No soother.

No food.

No diapers.

So, now that we're finally paid, we went out and got Little Angel some formula, a little bottle and a soother.

Because honestly?

The bellowing yesterday?

Wow.

We were trying to find anything we could do to stop the li'l critter from his caterwaul but someone put his level on to MAX! before dropping him off.

I could distract him for a mere 20 seconds and he'd be off to the races again.

We were worried people would think we were torturing the poor li'l guy.

We even tried to make it fun by trying to take pictures of us aping his face.

See who could get the best 'screaming baby' face on.

Neither of us came close.

Especially with our gaping teeth hanging out.

But now?

We have formula.

Yes!

No more high pitched, wailing babies!

Then there was the screeching dog, in which we needed ammunition for as well.

We didn't need to put it out of its misery, but we needed our guns because all the dogs in the village were going crazy and that usually means trouble is abounding.

So, after our gunshot was let off, as was everyone else's in the village, ...

... it seems someone starts the gun shots and everyone follows ...

... we tracked the sound of the dog yowling to help it.

Papi had initially tried to find the dog the first time, but I suppose it kept quiet out of fear for being so defenceless.

However, 2nd time round, we found it.

Little bugger was stuck in the neighbour's gate and people are so used to dogs making noise, nobody came to it's rescue.

It was stuck just like our demon dog, Pathetic Puppy, will do occasionally.

She knows how to wiggle out, but I know one day, she's going to be even larger, and we'll be doing what the village had to do at 10 pm last night; pull the brat out of the fence.

Oh, but this little fuzzy love was nipping and shrieking, doing everything it could to say, "Back off bitches, I'm tough even though I only look like I'm 4 months old.  I'll CUT you!"

I wasn't going near those choppers.

Seriously.

They were sharp.

But eventually, everyone seeing us with the dog and flashlights, not to mention the siren got louder, everyone came to help, and the bravest dog person saved it.

It was released and back went the village, and us, for some quiet time.

Papi and I looked at each other and said, "What a day of chaos it's been."

Scream day in the hood.

All kinds of fun.

i show every being how much i love them, with all verbal and non-verbal ways i can

ah, the luxury ...

My Eternal friend told me that when she taught in Guatemala, expats in their 1st year got extra days off with pay, because they were so sick all the time.

Their bodies weren't used to the environment.

No shit.

Well, actually, in my case?  Lots.

I am so sick again.  This makes the 3rd time.  Makes sense.  It seems every 6 weeks something gets me.

It started BEFORE yesterday's trip to that 'place of health', so I'm not worried that I got something there.

But damn.  Yesterday began the climax.

And now?

While I'm feeling so crappy?

... sorry about all the poop puns ...  can't help myself ...

Now is when Our Fave's Mom is taking us up on the babysitting by dropping the kid off at the gringo pool.

We babysat for about 3 hours yesterday.  Well, I should say, Papi did.

I ran around from the 'Andréa ...' questions all day, and entertaining the children at the Hector-Brown Amusement Park, in between running to the washroom and filling myself back up with lime water and salt.

I was feeling the illness, and wanted just to lie with Papi and Little Angel all day.

That li'l fella was so comfortable and slept the whole time.

Our Fave's Mom would come around once an hour to see how he was doing.

She was supposed to be relaxing, but most mothers can't be away from a newborn for very long.

She couldn't stop checking in.

But every time, I'd tell her he was sleeping and the shocked look on her face was priceless, because he doesn't sleep much for her.

We know why.

He is a cuddle bunny and just wants to be held.

She doesn't have much time with 2 other children, a home and animals to tend to, all without her husband because he is either working or sleeping off the Graveyard Coma.

So, yesterday, she came to the door, handed the baby to me without a word and walked away.

No words were needed to say, "Here.  You want him?  He's yours."

She used the time to catch up without having to deal with the little one who looks like he's 3 months, not 1 month.

Even the doctor was confused looking at him.  She couldn't believe he was only a month.  That kid eats.  A LOT.

The hard part is, they're in need of money, because the husband's boss can't pay them due to being robbed by Mr. Extortion.

She asked if we could buy formula, diapers and wipes.  We had said yes, but when we went to the bank, we realized, we only have $50 to last us for 20 days.

$50, and workers to pay.

All we could get the little guy was formula.  At least he won't be hungry.

It will be fun to babysit him this afternoon with no diapers.  But I suppose, like other children in the village, we'll just have to let him get the dung out on a towel and wash him up when shit happens.

Maybe I'll get Papi to tend to the workers and Little Angel and I will just make cow pies all day.

At least I can control mine.

Oh.  Speaking of fertilized underwear.

We have a functioning washing machine!!!!  I did laundry yesterday!!!!

Probably doesn't sound exciting to you, but to me?

Made my day.

I've never done laundry and been so happy about it before.

It wasn't a chore.

It was luxury.

Looks like I'll be doing a lot of towels over the next 24 hours.

i prosper wherever i turn and i know that i deserve prosperity of all kinds

the place of 'health'

There's not too much that can entice me out of bed these days.

The Carpenter has a key now, so I allow my body to sleep until it needs.

Right now, for some reason, it needs a lot.  Nighttime.  Daytime.  So much.  I just want to sleep.

However, today, Little Angel needed to see a doctor.

There was a problem with his eye and Our Fave's Mom was very worried, as any mother becomes when something doesn't look right.

His eye had some redness.  Maybe an infection?

There are free medical clinics for those who have the proper Dominican Republic identification.  No Haitians allowed, never mind Canadians.

Upon entering, I realized, it's not the best place for someone who has a low immune system to be, but I waited with them for 2 hours for their turn.

Mama fussed about the Little Angel while I kept his WeeHeart sister filled with love and attention.

She hugged me non-stop, then held my hand, walking me over to where her imagination said, "I'm jumping off a HUGE cliff!!!  Look at me!!"

She climbs up my body like a creature with suction hands and feet akin to Spiderman.

Then she tells me I smell.

Yup.  You got that right.

I got outta bed for your brother, our Godson, and didn't shower.  So nope.  I don't smell too nice.

But it's funny for a kid when I lift my arm to expose my armpit, waving toward her a waft of the Andréa Special.

Well, SHE thought it was funny.

Not sure how funny the adults who were staring thought it was.  Poor child, having to sit with such a dirty, stinky gringa.

Signs hung that explained how to keep from getting Cholera and how much bleach to use in the drinking water.

Drinking water.  This is not Canada.

A sign explaining that if you have a cough for more than 15 days, you may have TB.

All the while I looked at people coughing, sneezing, children with more than their share of mucus being expunged from their bodies.

Not a good place for a weak immune system, but a hell-uv-a good place to have love.

WeeHeart was enthralled that she had my utmost attention, where in the village, it seems she only gets a moment of my time before another child gets a ride on the jalopy that is the Hector-Brown Amusement Park.

There was more entertainment for our ride home, when we were stopped by the police, again.

It seems to be a daily occurrence for me now.

Papi was reading that our car is a target.

Crappy cars have no money.  No point pulling them over.

Expensive cars have connections.  No point pulling them over.

But mid-cars?  Like a Toyota Corolla?

Always.  We're the ones they target for extortion.

Immediately, when she saw Mr. Extortion wave us down, mama threw the baby in the back seat to lie on his own.

And I mean TOSS.

They would have taken a lot money from me if he was in the front, safely on his mother's lap.  It's a huge ticket.

She saved me, by putting the baby in an unsafe place to lie where he could roll off into something not so nice, like one of Papi's empty pop cans.

Good thing she was fast acting, because I didn't have peso to pinch.

Then she told me her husband's boss (also a gringo) was recently extorted and now has no money to pay the Little Angel's dad, that they need money for formula because her breasts no longer give milk.

At the moment I was saying we didn't have anything, because we used everything that came in for The Carpenter and Mr. Lumpy, the gas gauge went to empty and the dreaded gas light came on.

No matter.  We were close enough to coast if we needed to.

We'd probably just get someone to push us to our street where I could run and get more credit out of our barely coping credit cards.

And then I wonder, "Why am I so tired all the time?"

Because every day is an adventure.

i rejoice in the love i encounter every day

donkey. you dog me.

Oh, The Donkey.

So many antics from one canine being.

She's healing up fine from both being spayed, and her little abnormal thumbs being removed, but it was time for a check up anyway.

The vet had told us he'd never seen anything like her before.

That she was a drama queen after her surgery and wouldn't move.

Well, you should have seen the drama in returning for a check up.

There she was, enjoying herself on our drive to Sosúa to see Dr. Bob.

Head hanging out the window, sometimes, trying desperately to get her head out MY window, which was troublesome, as I was the one driving.

I drive illegally now without any care in the world, but that still doesn't mean I want to go killing anyone on the road because The Donkey has chosen MY window to drool out of.

However, when we turned onto the rocky road that leads to the vet, all sense of 'fun' went out the window.

Quite literally.

Suddenly, she whimpered, both paws were out the back seat window, followed by her mammoth body.

I then saw her roll a few times on the ground and I wasn't sure if maybe, perhaps, I'd driven over her legs!

Good thing we were at the right place for broken legs if the problem arose!

I stopped the car in drive with the emergency brake on, not really realizing it, and jumped out to chase her as she was galloping back home.

On the main street.

Where we see at least one dead dog a day now.

Or cat.

Or horse.

But there she was, "Goin' home!  Nope!  You can't make me go back there!"

Fortunately for me, she loves me enough that when I call, she can't resist the cuddles and she came back, I snapped that leash on and in we went to Dr. Bob.

When I told him of her buffoonery and that he should check her body out for troubles, his reaction was not what I expected, "I'm so offended!  Why wouldn't you want to see me?" he asked her.

I almost asked him if he was from the west coast of Canada and upper U.S., where people seem to be personally offended at the change in weather, never mind someone speaking openly and honestly about their feelings.

Oh, don't get me off track on that one.  I'll be here all day bitching.

Back to The Donkey.

Last night, I brought in some small stairs for Sir Bark-A-Lot and Jake-a-Like, so that they could get up to the bed with ease.

Actually, they made it easier for ME to get into the bed too.

Turns out, they also made it easier for The Donkey at 5 a.m., when she decided to go against the rule and hop on top as well.

Both Papi and I looked at what was happening, then merely shrugged our shoulders and went back to sleep.

Well, TRIED to go back to sleep.

Have you ever tried sleeping with a donkey in the bed?

Then I was supposed to drive Our Fave's Mom and the Little Angel to the doctor at 8 a.m.

Needless to say, I am quite tired and am going back to sleep, even though I've driven people around after having had my coffee.

This time, The Donkey is on the floor.

With the other cretins who are too big for the bed.

I've informed all the children in the neighbourhood that I will not be around, because I'm going to be sleeping.

Still, it probably won't stop them from yelling at my gate.

It's yet ANOTHER day of fiesta in this country, where we can't keep up with all the 'days off' everyone gets.

No school for the kids and they'll be coming the the Hector-Brown Amusement Park for sure.

My earplugs are firmly placed in both ears.

life is a joy filled with delightful surprises

pass the clonazepam

Today is a lovely day for a biopsy, no?

Sound like fun?

Massive needles stuck into my boob.

Nice.

I did really good in the fear departement yesterday until bedtime.

What is it about bedtime that makes my mind crazy!?!

Since I was a kid, I've had anxiety galore before going to sleep.

When I was a kid, I was afraid I'd go to sleep because I thought I would forget how to breathe and die.

Yes.

I'm a well trained drama queen.

I didn't know that our bodies were just equipped with the know how to continue breathing.

Well, that is of course until you have a panic attack.

Then there is no breathing.

Which is what would happen when I was a kid, when I worried about not breathing when I slept.

Or when I'd get overwhelmed with learning that the universe just kept going on and on forever.  I think that was the day I blew my mind and the rest of my insanity is history.

Then there were the times I wouldn't breathe when I was a teen, worried about the next predator that was hiding behind garbage cans and bushes as I walked home alone from the bus stop after a shift at McDonald's.

And the big ones?

They really started coming after the motorcycle accident when I had flashbacks of smashing into the car ... over ... and over ... and over ... echoing as if edited in a loop, blinding me with a movie screen that drops in front of my eyes, hindering me from seeing any beauty in life.

I've been having panic attacks since finding Mr. Lumpy.

And now?

As I write this, I just gave myself another one thinking about all the panic attacks I had and from what.

Seriously.

I know there's going to be nothing wrong with whatever Mr. Lumpy has in store.

I know that it's all going to be OK, because everyone else's intuition says it will.

I'm going with everyone else's intuition, because mine is so fucked up right now.

I had a very successful pajama day with Papi yesterday.  The kids didn't find us until much later when they realized they could see us up in our bedroom, then the chorus of, "Andréa!  Andréa!  Andréa!" began.

I just didn't move from my spot, pretending I was asleep.

I did my best to distract myself with editing, trying my hardest to get my new keyboard to work so that I could at least make some music to help ease my mind, and then there was that daunting task that we all hate but need to do; cleaning up my computer files.

There came a point, however, that all of that had to stop and I needed to try to sleep.

That's when the thoughts of today came.

Terror for the pain they will inflict upon Mr. Lumpy, who will in turn, bite my nerve endings having me jump to the heavens.

Papi said to take some pain killers before we go in.  He's always thinking, my love.

They don't really give you pain killers here like they do at hospitals in Canada.

If you need them, the doc comes, gives you a prescription and whoever is your caretaker has to go and get them from the pharmacy.

Seriously.  So odd.

So, having that information after seeing it happen with Our Fave's Mom after her C Section, we at least can take matters into our own hands and take the pain killers BEFORE he starts the torture chamber proceedings.

Am I scared?  Hell ya.

Then there are the two days I have to wait for results, even though, like I said, it's all going to be OK because all my Eternal Friend tells me so.

Still, she's not here in my brain.

Mr. Lumpy is.

I think I'm going to be sick.

every cell in my body vibrates with energy and health

this is me trying

I didn't want to get out of bed.

Damn that bladder anyway!!!!

I tried to ignore it, but there was no option.

I actually had to rise.

Once I move, the dogs all know they get to relieve their bladders too and I become the rock star of the house with my mobs of groupies hounding at me.

I didn't want to get out of bed.

But I also promised Our Fave's Mom that I would drive her and the baby carriage we got her to her sister's as she stays there more now than here.

So, I would have had to eventually anyway.

I didn't want to get out of bed.

But the clonazepam had worn off and I was truly awake to think about the day.

In 2 days I get a biopsy.

My stomach is reeling.

My head is pounding.

I'm more tired than I ever was with anemia.

The moment I opened those doors to let out the tribe, the workers were there and The Carpenter needed me to go shopping for more wood with him.

Now, I have to go and face people, pretending like nothing is going on in my brain.

Like I'm not obsessing about Monday.

Like I'm not reliving the results yesterday that confirmed there was a lump on my lymph node in the upper right side of my breast, and that the doctor said it's a bad place for it to be, but not to worry.

Like I'm not freaking out, wondering if it will be the easy route out, a double mastectomy, or the hard route, chemo.

Like I'm not doing my best to just say, "Hey, it might not be anything and we won't know until the biopsy is done."

Silent hell.

Nobody needs to know of my silent hell.

It could be nothing, then I'd be spreading drama amongst everyone else around me.

I didn't want to get out of bed.

I wanted to lie alone and cry.

There's too much to do.

I'm up.

I'm here.

I'm about to drink my coffee and enjoy every sip of it.

No crying now.

Just have to try to look presentable to the people out in that world.

Yesterday's clothes are just fine.

That's the best they're getting out of me.

I'll put deodorant on, just to be nice.

Maybe I'll even brush my teeth.

Maybe I'll just live this day as best I can.

I didn't want to get out of bed.

But here I am.

 this day will come and go whether i participate or not.  i'll participate

It's a bad day for The Donkey.

The Donkey goes in to see Dr. Bob to get fixed today.

She will look at us with the saddest face when we leave her, "You're abandoning me?!  What did I do?!"

Then when we pick her up, while she's depressed and lying in a cage, the face will say, "Whatever I did, I won't do it again."

I wish they spoke English so I could explain what's going on.  Hell, I'd settle for learning their language, if I could.

Old Ghost Face is in heat, but she's much to old to get fixed, so we'll just hide her from the other horny males in the 'hood who keep impregnating all the bitches.

So many pregnant dogs.  So many puppies killed because of it.

Why can't I be that rich person who could pay for all the animals to get fixed and stop the reproduction problem they have here in the Dominican Republic?

Not to make this into a billboard for promotion of the local program or anything, but if you feel like giving anything this year, here's the AAAS, their tax exempt donations, along with their wish list.

Anyway, back to Old Ghost Face.

When we went to the beach the other day, we left her in the yard for a short amount of time, as we didn't know what she might do.

Bolt?

Find a stud to take care of business?

After the mob calmed down, we let her out to join the masses to see what happened.

She stayed close by, because she loves her pack and her humans.  There was nothing greater than seeing that smile on her face.

First, there was trepidation that looked like she was thinking, "Is this a trick?  Are they trying to tell me to leave?  But I get 2 meals a day now!  WITH Alpo gravy!  I'm not leaving this yard."

Then, she took the brave slide down the sand that is slowly disappearing from our front area, as we need those massive boulders PRONTO before we wash away.

Next came the smile.

The, 'I'm so happy I could shit' smile.

I'll spare you the details on that one.

Never-the-less, it was successful, and as soon as she's out of heat, we'll take her on those treks to the beach, along with the pack who will also be exempt from making more puppies in this country.

Totally un-related, let's talk about how much love I received yesterday, when Our Fave's Mom and his sister came by to invite me to go play in the ocean.

The sweetest thing ever is when a child who isn't born to you, loves and trusts you enough to ask you to her hand while you go both go wading in the water.

Honestly.

It makes me so proud that the innocence of a child understands my heart.

Even if adults don't, a child and their intuition know that I'm here for good and I'm here for love.

Because of this sentiment, and the affection of friends who keep making an effort to remain in my heart, I can safely put aside all the politics, judgement and people who have dumped me because they're now part of the 'cool kids' who are on the 'hate the Hector-Browns' bandwagon.

... again ... my heart needs so much healing from the henpeckers ...

When a child wants to play with me in the ocean, doesn't see colour as a barrier, and asks for nothing but joy?

That trumps all.

Then we came to the pool, I pushed her around on the Princess Floaty Chair and she giggled and smiled while her mom had just a few moments to rest and watch.

She had time to just do 'nothing' but watch us in the ocean, in the pool, because the Little Angel was sleeping and Our Favourite was at school.

Rest, for the mama, for at least 30 minutes.

Probably felt like more to her, considering she goes non-stop because her husband is always working.

I keep offering us to babysit so she can have rest, but she hasn't taken us up on that yet.

However, she did say she was moving to Gaspar Hérnandez without her husband, to be closer to her sister, who is a HUGE help.

That made me sad, but until she actually goes, I'll appreciate the time with my DR Family and play with the little ones in the ocean as much as I can.

That child, and the friends back home who haven't left my side, make me stronger every day.

Truly, love is all that matters.

i know i am important

well, we tried ...

We had a full day off.

Both of us were wiped and wasted, but we had a day to be alone.  We couldn't really go anywhere to do errands, because we have a spare tire on that should be used sparingly until we get a new one today.

At first, I thought our day off would be spent sleeping.  I know that's really what I wanted.  You know when I'm eating chocolate at noon, that all I plan on doing is lying around.

But the puppies were being MORE than rambunctious, so we decided to try them out at the beach.

We haven't up until now, because there needed to be some training in place first, and there hasn't been any 'time' to get them out to the water.

The Donkey and Pathetic Puppy don't have all their shots, but we had to do it anyway.  They were using us as launching pads to attack one another in what seemed like their version of rock star body surfing in a mosh pit.

The waves looked pretty tame compared to most days.  We decided to give them a whirl.  I guess it's true that in May the water calms a bit.

What we realized, is only one of us can go in at a time, because the puppies were all over the map.

I thought they were going to run next door to Haiti, so Papi watched out for them to begin with, walking them further down the beach to tire them out.

I went in the water.  The sand in front of our home is amazing!  No rocks at all!  A couple of little dips in the earth that had me losing my already fragile balance, but nothing major.

Out I went allowing every crash of waves to body slam me, occasionally removing my bikini bra.

Arms raised in a vee, I welcomed the power of the water, and giggled with glee every time one would make an attempt to throw me over.

One did.  The undertow pulled me down before the wave smashed me into the sand, turning me over a few times.

... just roll with it ...

That was a little scary, as I concurred with the vast ocean, "OK, point taken.  That is as far as I go."

I kept it to thigh level from that point on, especially because The Donkey didn't like it that I was in the water.

She didn't want to stick with the pack.  She was too afraid that I was going to die.

She whimpered and cried, swimming out to 'save' me, but it was her I had to be careful of with those undertows.

Papi came back and it was my turn to watch the dogs and allow him his water time.

Kids came to watch us play, so I put the dogs back in the yard because of their limited training.  They still jump and some of those kids are tiny.

Papi and I enjoyed the ocean 'alone', even though people watched us from the shore.

We were together.

Nobody else but waves, because if you talk to anyone in our village, they'll tell you it's MUCH too dangerous and nobody ever goes in the water.

We were playing like children, body surfing the crests, and when there was a calm spurt between the pinnacles of surging water, "Quick!  Float on your back!!"

We decided we wanted some solitude at the house, so I made a sign out of wood that said in Spanish, "Please, do not bother us, thank you."

It didn't work.  Nobody cares.  It's not like that in our village, as boundaries are constantly crossed and people just come on in as they please.  When the door is locked, children run to our beach gate and yell my name, or just stare until I notice them, manipulating me into talking to them.

I was grateful for the gift of fruit The Carpenter brought by, and he felt bad that he didn't see the sign first.  He had called my phone to say he was at our house, then came to the door afterward and apologized upon seeing my wooden appeal.

Then, as Our Favourite came to the gate yelling, I tried to tell him that we wanted alone time.  That we would see our friends tomorrow.

It didn't work.  He came back 4 times and the 4th time it was the whole family including the Little Angel.

I went to our front door, and lovingly as possible, explained that we have people here every day and we just need a day to ourselves.

We were only asking for one day, but the look on their faces was horrifying and I'll have guilt over it for all my days, as I've never set a boundary like that with anyone here.

In 4 months, we haven't had that time alone at our home, but it still felt horrible to ask for one day to ourselves, and really, we didn't get what we asked for anyway.

I suppose if we want true alone time, it will have to be done away from Casa Paraíso, or we'll just have to go play in the waves.

It was easier back home to be in solitude, but still, we're looking for paradise more and more within ourselves and not in our abode of beauty.

Still, we had our day at the beach.

i give up the right to criticize myself

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

help me help

My heart was reduced to shattered debris.

I was in the kitchen, getting ready to make a meal after running around all day, when Our Favourite appeared at the door.

"My mom wants you to come."

Oh, but I'm hungry.

You don't want me to visit when I'm hungry.

I was a little perturbed.

As I get when I'm hungry.

But I went anyway, because you never know what kind of help Our Fave's Mom might need.  She's really trying to do a lot of this on her own with our godson, as her husband is working a lot.

I've told her to always come when she needs something.  Anything.

She tends not to take me up on that, and has told me in the past she likes to be alone.  I don't want to be in her face all the time, as I know I would with that Little Angel in this world.

I followed Our Favourite and his mini-me sister.

When I got to their house, I felt rude just walking in to her private space, but she wasn't coming out.  I suppose I had to go against those feelings of awkwardness to see what she needed.

I pushed back the curtain to her tiny room, and saw that they were using the carriage we gave them as a crib.

Yay!  It makes me so happy when people use what I give them.

But as I looked at her, underneath the veil of a mosquito net, I knew there was a heaviness I hadn't seen in her before.

At first, it could be confused with exhaustion.

I sat down and asked her how she is doing.

"I'm sad," she said, as I finally saw the tears rolling down her face.  "I'm alone."

She is alone.

I get it.

I have felt it.

I know that emotion all too well, but I haven't had the double whammy of postpartum depression to go along with it.

Her body is reeling in chemical imbalance as it gets used to no longer being a host.

I touched her leg and said, "I am very, very sorry.  I understand.  I don't visit your house every day because I think you want to have your space."

I told her to come to my house ANY time she feels she needs a friend.  That she can watch me run around like a lunatic as I'm being called one way to the next from workers.

I said I would come by more often to see her if she'd like that.  She said she would.

I told her that we could go for a walk.  She needs to get out of the house.  Being in a house alone just makes it worse, you need fresh air and change of scenery.

I asked her if she likes to exercise.  She does, so in 3 months, when her body is healed from the invasive surgery of giving birth without going through the natural canal, we could do some yoga.

I told her how it helps my brain, my heart and that exercise is good for depression.

In my limited Spanish, I did my very best to explain that I have depression, so when she needs to talk or cry, it's not hard for me to see, because I understand.

Papi came after a while to see if everything was OK.

I had been there for quite some time consoling her, consoling the Little Angel from gas, and consoling the little sister who was being berated by Our Favourite every minute or so.

Papi was worried that something was terribly wrong.  He showed up with pistol in hand.  Well, in underwear.

Yes.  Something is wrong, but not gun worthy.

Our Fave's Mom needs a friend to help her through postpartum depression right now.

I could use a physical friend too.  I am grateful to my friends who give love virtually, but there's something about a physical hug that makes me stronger.

I asked my angels to help me do everything in my power to be as selfless as possible, in hopes that I could help her through this.

It's hard enough when I'm depressed, but when I see someone else depressed, it's as if the pain goes through me, because I can't handle to see people suffer.

Like Papi is suffering right now.

I know how it feels, and I am dying watching him be in the pain he is experiencing.

Help me to help them both.

i see myself as the gift i am to people, community and nation

the oil of oregano dance

Oil of oregano is SO good for a virus.  It'll kick that bugger right outta there.

So, when Our Favourite was complaining that he had a cold, I decided to give him some.

I'm going to make some ginger tea for him today to keep up with the immune boosting and get him healthy, but last night I just didn't have the energy, so oil of oregano it was.

I warned him and Our Fave's Mom.  I made sure they both knew it would taste horrible so they were prepared for his reaction.

I had the eye dropper all poised and said, "Ready?" with a partial giggle, knowing that this would probably be the most horrid tasting medicine he would ever experience.

Buckley's ain't got NOTHIN' on oil of oregano.

Anyway, tongue up, drops in and blammo!  There it was!!  The oil of oregano dance!

Hopping around trying to spit it out.  Arms flailing as he tried to put his shirt up to his mouth to get the excess out.  I think I even saw an evil eye glare at me!

He could try and spit that stuff out all he wanted, but once it's under your tongue, the burn just has to work it's way out.

Our Fave's Mom laughed and laughed.

We know that sometimes, the best things for us are things that hurt, leave a bad taste in our mouths, or have us learning big lessons.

I had another lesson this week.  I was called racist again.

I understand a lot more about why people of colour would hate white people.  I see it in the workers here, when I see how white people treat them.

Even though I know I'm judged, I do my best to maintain a smile with the men in our yard, as I give them water all day long to keep them hydrated while they do good for us.

One of them absolutely despised me.  He just saw me as another white asshole.

One night, he was working late and alone, and the sun was going down.  He hadn't stopped for a dinner break, and we had some delicious pasta in the fridge, and I thought he was probably hungry.  Maybe he'd want it?

My dinner was chocolate, and I don't share that with anyone.

I didn't even think he would accept my offering, and battled with whether or not I should try to feed him, because he probably wouldn't want anything from me considering how much he abhorred me.

However, I meekly went out and offered, and was so pleased he took it.

Ever since I gave him dinner, he has been nice to me.  I suppose he's just like me; the way to his heart is through his stomach.

Now, he says hello in the mornings, and he has been the biggest help with giving me gardening tips.  Every time he sees me doing something wrong, he comes over and shows me the right way.

It's the greatest gift of all to me, a city slicker, who has only kept one plant alive in my life.

That was of course, until my motorcycle accident, and Papi was in charge.  That poor plant didn't last very long, but I'm keeping things alive as I get a lot of tips now.

Anyway, I understand how people of colour would hate white people.  It just hurts that there's absolutely NOTHING I could ever do right, because I was born white and am judged not by my actions, but by the colour of my skin.

An article I read, as I was trying to learn more about how people of colour hate us, was talking about a room full of white people who were there to learn more about racism.

The woman looked out amongst the mostly white crowd and said to herself, "It's still all about you."

Why?  Those people are doing their best to try to change things by learning more, but still, they're bad for being there.

Why is completely OK to be hated and put down because of being white?

I don't intentionally do anything to harm another person, no matter what colour they are, unless of course, you're an asshole to me, then you're fair game.

Yet, I'll never be able to do anything good enough and will always be hated by some because of my colour.

Lesson learned.  Damned if you do, damned if you don't.  Just accept being hated.

Every time someone from the 'community' calls me racist on that toxic social media site I call Fecesbook, they're added to the 'mean girls' list, and are hidden so they can't see anything on my wall.

I'll just be invisible to the haters, and take away their opportunity to attack me to look cool to the other assholes in the 'community' who yes, happen to be white.

I've learned that all that matters is that I know I try my best to help people in ways I feel are good for both of us.

All that matters is Our Favourite and Our Fave's Mom trust us to be part of the DR Family, no matter what colour we are.

I'll keep on doing my best, no matter how much people try to insult me.

i value and honour myself as i am

new world

2 beds.

That's all they have in the emergency room in the city of Gaspar Hernández that our village borders.

All the new mothers with their babies are lined up for their immunization, and when they're done with immunization, everyone waits in the hallway with about 40 other new mothers.

Everyone thought the baby was mine, but I was only there to be part of the Little Angel's very first immunization.

They all laugh when I tell them I'm the godmother.

I suppose it's just a novelty to most to have a gringa for a godmother.

But the Little Angel is quite comfortable with me, and Our Favourite keeps offering for us to take him home for good.  Make him OUR baby.

I tell him, "I want to!  But your dad needs him."  Papa is VERY proud of his boy.

2 pediatric doctors tag team with all the mothers who need them.

There are signs everywhere that say to wash your hands with soap and water to ward off disease, but obviously that only applies to your own home, because there is no soap with which to do so in the hospital.

Newborns are everywhere, and dirty hands are touching them.

Not that we have it much better here at Casa Paraíso.  We have soap, yes, but no water.  However, we have electricity.  It seems we get a choice of one or the other.

Today, I'll be the smelly gringa who tries to cover up my BO with more pit shit.

I've given up on trying to feel fresh and pretty.  I'll leave that up to all the other lovely ladies here.

I might as well become a hippy.  My hair is definitely long enough now.

I just tie it back all the time, or up in some kinda do with my hair rags.  What's the point if I can't shower?

Anyway, Our Fave's Mom is in Gaspar Hernández with her sister who cares for them with all the love of the mother herself.

She's a great help.

They're grateful when I come, because they get a break and pass the Little Angel off to me.

I fawn over him as they clean and giggle at me speaking to him in English.  Baby doesn't care.  He can't understand Spanish either, so I'm good.

The people in the tiny little dwellings where Our Fave's Mom is staying are starting to get to know me and vice versa.

A few of them make sure I'm safe.  They watch over me as I walk, talk between people for me and surround me with their presence.

When they're not there, I have to say, it's like putting a young, pretty, naive girl in the pit with a gaggle of construction workers back home.

The leers, ogling, cat calling, attention sucking sounds and words I don't have to understand to know what they mean, really make me MUCH more than uncomfortable.

I know how to handle those creeps back home now, as I'm not the spring chicken I used to be, not to mention, not being the spring chicken, they leave me alone now.

There are good things to be said about aging for this femme ridden with P.T.S.D.

Still, I have visions of the poor woman who died from a gang rape in India.

I try my best to put on the 'don't fuck with me' face, but just like my intuition doesn't work here, neither does my Pissy Face.

I keep my stun gun in my purse.  I don't carry any cash.  I dress down.

It's a new world, and it's not MY world.

It's not the same when Papi is with me.  The men don't bother me as overtly.  But today was too early for mi esposo to play The Godfather.

It's a world that I have to adapt to, learn how to survive and most definitely, seek out the better hospitals.

No matter how bad off I am, I won't be visiting the one in Gaspar Hernández.

No toilet paper or soap, and only two beds with every sick person in the city lined up against the wall.

Nope.

I come home and clean myself pronto after a visit to that building.  Today, with water we bought from the local store.

New world, new dangers.

New life.

i maintain my self-confidence at all times in all places

all hail the boob!

Sunday Sillies.

I had SUCH a nice visit with my Jersey Girl neighbour.

Can't really say she's just a Jersey Girl, because she's lived all over the world.

She also had a half sibling that she didn't know about until adulthood, only she got to find her missing piece.

We both agreed that you never know if I will find my big brother.  Life has ways of surprising us when we least expect.

Like the surprise that she offered me yesterday.

You see, I have been heartbroken that I can't have my piano here.

I have to find a new home for it.

It's been my baby for so many years, but it needs a home and it can't be here in the Dominican Republic, or it will be ruined within mere months.

However, the Jersey Girl has a special room with special temperature that she keeps the door closed to keep all the ocean air out.

It's for her baby grand piano.

She can't play anymore, as age has inundated her with arthritis that people get tend to get as they get older.

She asked me to please come play it, because it needs to be played.

I understand this.

I need my piano to go to a home where it will be played as well.

But the fact that 3 doors down on the beach there is a piano just waiting for me to play it was amazing.

There are only 5 pianos on the island.

The chances that one of them is in my hood is incredible!!!

Looks like I'll be practising in no time.

When Papi goes back to Canada to visit G'ma in August, I'll have him bring a ton of my music.

He'll grumble about it.

But whatever.

My foot is down.

I have a piano to play.

I also have a baby to play with.

They joke a lot about just giving me our godson.

It's hard to tell if they're serious or not, because Our Fave's Mom seems so indifferent to the child.

I urged her to feed the Little Angel by breast, not formula.

I've learned from an advocate that this is what they do to women here.

They convince them that their cervix and canal are too small, and that they need a C-Section.

They convince them that their babies are better off with formula, because the child's stomach needs to have 'better' food.

It's horrible.

I tried to persuade her with the benefits of how a mother's milk will give the Little Angel all the antibodies he needs to build his immune, but with my lack of Spanish, all I could really say was how important it is to their health.

I also tried to put a positive twist on it, "And it's a free meal!  No money necessary!"

I told her that in Canada, they're on the boob right away.

Today, the Little Angel wouldn't take the bottle, but as soon as Our Fave's Mom gave him the boob, he started eating right away.

Intuitively, he knows what's best.

Chemicals or natural milk?

A child is all intuition.

I have much more information to give Our Fave's Mom about the benefits.  I'll start googling the words and make my sentences to help her understand.

I'll do my best.

She deserves to give the Little Angel health.

wonderful things unfold before me

Gratitude Day 5/10
1. I am grateful for fresh vegetables from local vendors.
2. I am grateful for the world's most comfortable bed to ease my back.
3. I am grateful for the opportunity to play a piano here on the island.
4. I am grateful our washing machine did another load, even though it's been a month since the last time it let me.
5. I am grateful for electricity.
6. I am grateful for the support of friends.
7. I am grateful to feel loved.
8. I am grateful 2/3 of our roof renos are almost done.
9. I am grateful for clean healthy water.
10. I am grateful to have hope in this world.

family.

What a day!

What a hospital.

Oh man.

You're there to heal and hold a fresh little baby that has just come into this world who needs all the help he can get with his fledgling immune system, and the bathrooms don't have toilet paper to wipe your ass, nor do they have soap to clean your hands while you're drip drying.

Seriously.

Then you're going to hold a little bundle of love who just breathed air for the first time.

Of course, I did it anyway, for as long as my bitch of a back would allow.

Which was just long enough to fall in love.

What a sweet little soul.

To Our Fave's Mom, it was nothing, as she's had 2 others before.

She giggled at our silliness with the little bean.

As did everyone else who thought us ridiculous.

The family has taken us in, and I believe I have found the DR Family we have been searching for.

Including the gangster brother who scares the hell out of me now that he knows where we live.

But at least, I won't be alone for those three months Papi was talking about.

He was indeed having a grief breakdown.

You know the one if you've had it.

You're not only grieving, you're experiencing every bad thing that ever happened to you in your life along with the pain of loss.

Well, Papi isn't going back to Canada to stay with G'ma for 3 months.

He was just having 'a moment' of weakness.

I won't be alone for all that time, but I would have done it to make Papi happy.

We do know that G'ma is in the best care she could have.

She is surrounded by other family and friends.

She is taken care of with her Alzheimer's better than we could do.

She is where SHE wants to be, near her church people who mean the world to her.

We have asked her to come with us, but she didn't want to.

So, there in Canada, with the BEST care, she stays.

Best care, with toilet paper, and soap to wash her hands.

Best care, with people who know how to care for her condition.

Good thing she's not here.

She would not have survived the heat first of all.

Second, she would have a fit about all the repairs she would have to live with.

Third, we wouldn't be able to have the dogs to protect us, because they would knock her down.

She wouldn't be able to handle Papi firing off a gun every night, just because he enjoys it.

You know that story?  The boy who cried wolf?

I fear that people will get too used to my dingbat husband firing off a gun and not come to help when they hear the real thing.

Well, at least the gangster brother will know we have it.

Today, we will have a full house, because all the repairs we needed yesterday couldn't be done, because we had to be there to bring the new life into this world.

Not to mention, I also have a visitor.

Another dog lover from down the beach.

Her New York accent is very thick, and I love it!  We're going to share coffee along with some papaya straight from my tree.

I don't know where we're going to sit, as there is no deck to sit on right now, but I have a visitor.

And workers.

So, I best go get that veggie garden watered before all hell breaks loose.

Day begins ..........

NOW!

i let go of all lies i tell myself

Gratitude List Day 4/10
1. I am grateful to be a godparent a 2nd time over.
2. I am grateful to be accepted into a family here in the Dominican Republic.
3. I am grateful to have experienced a brand new life yesterday.
4. I am grateful Papi is feeling so much better.
5. I am grateful I am feeling so much better.
6. I am grateful Papi heard Psycho Kitty tell him that he's happy and doing well.
7. I am grateful for papaya straight from my tree.
8. I am grateful to be making friends.
9. I am grateful for my angels supporting me.
10. I am grateful for friends back home, who help me through the hard times.  You know who you are.

we all fall down ...

It was Papi's turn last night.

The pain of feeling he 'left G'ma behind' is taking it's toll.

Things like this usually happen when we grieve.

Grief tends to bring everything else boiling to the surface, granting us two options: 1) scrape the scum from atop, or 2) stir it back in and eat the filth once more.

I feel very grateful that I'm able to have a visit from the deceased Fuzzy Family member when they go.

It immediately releases my pain to see them so happy.

However, Papi doesn't have that luxury.

So he grieves.

True to any active addict/alcoholic, he needs to escape.

I have to make a choice; either live with him drinking alcohol and possibly killing himself, or live with him taking clonazepam and speaking with the junkie drawl.

I choose clonazepam.

At least he doesn't pass out into oblivion like when he's drinking.

Regardless, at this point in his life, he needs escape.

We decided that he would go home early to be with G'ma.

He was supposed to go for 10 days in August, but the need is too strong right now.

We're going to book his ticket as soon as we are able to so, I suppose in May.

I will be alone for a while.

A few months perhaps.

I have Our Fave's Mom and her security guard husband, the Housemaid, the Dominican Daddy and a couple of neighbours to watch over me, not to mention a handful of men whom I could call and they'd be here in a second to help.

They always tell me they would be here if anything happened.  Just call.

I have 2 guns, a machete and a bat.

I also have 2 dogs that would fight to the death to protect me.

3 more that would just run around barking.

Oh, who am I kidding.  Sir Bark-A-Lot would bite them.  I've seen him give a groomer a split lip worthy of stitches, because the dude wouldn't listen to us when we said, "Please muzzle him, he bites."

"Oh, no, that's ok," he laughed, looking at the small creature that couldn't possibly do any damage.

OK.

So, I have 3 that would fight.

I guess the Pathetic Puppy would get in there too.  She loves me.

And I suppose the Jake-a-Like would do his best.

Anyway, I'm going to be alone.

I'm going to have to ask people to take their holiday here.  Please come visit me if you can afford it?  Please come be my other human in the house.

I'll lend you a gun.

The big one.

I like the 9 mm.  She's the one I can handle and I'm not afraid to use her.

Papi might be gone for about 3 months.

He's worried about me.

I just want him to be ok.

I will do anything to have him well again, and if this helps ease his guilt, so be it.

I would do anything to see him the way he was before the motorcycle accident.

It changed both of us.

I guess I can't ask him to be the same person, just the same as I will never be that girl I was prior, but I can ask the angels to help him be well emotionally.

That's really all I want.

I would sacrifice all to have that for him.

All.

Including being alone in a dangerous country.

i stand firmly in my powerful, positive self-esteem

Gratitude List Day 2/10
1. I am grateful Papi is looking for a solution to relieve his guilt.
2. I am grateful I have people physically around me who would protect me.
3. I am grateful for the friends back home who support me, even when I fall.
4. I am grateful for Prozac.
5. I am grateful to wake to the world's best coffee every morning.
6. I am grateful to be feeling more like myself, and stronger.
7. I am grateful for the angels helping me when I need it.
8. I am grateful for the gift Our Fave's Mom gave us.  They have nothing, yet they gave us a gift to show their appreciation of us.
9. I am grateful to be living in a climate that eases my physical pain.
10. I am grateful I have things to be grateful for.

Paradise is NOT a 'place'.

The party.

Unlike any baby shower you'll find in Canada.

Canada?  Ladies only for the most part.

Silly games to keep us entertained, refreshments with a few tame drinks.

Music on, really only for ambiance.

Baby shower in Dominican Republic?

Co-ed, rum being chugged before it's poured into the glass.

Music so loud, there's no point having a conversation.

I filmed people dancing instead.

Our Fave's Mom looked so damn beautiful.

I've never seen her look so good, because the poor thing is so damn pregnant, she doesn't have the energy to fancy herself up.

Damn she's beautiful with her hair down and those massive breasts spilling out of her Spanish style top.

I actually didn't recognize her at first!

I had a tour of their fruit trees, pigs and chickens.

We're talking at least 20 fuzzy, baby chicks too.

Holding them to give me so much love that I need right now.

They chirped in my ear, "I love you, it's really good to be alive!"

Yeah, you're not old enough to know how bad life really gets.

Oh, but you won't be saying that when it's YOUR turn to be in the pot of food they were cooking for the party last night.

I was also the tester of the food to see if it was good.

Good?!?!

Oh I can't even tell you the flavours they use here.

I was grateful to be the tester.

Papi kept disappearing.  Understandable.  His social anxiety is worse than mine.

He was supposed to be behind the camera to keep himself busy so he didn't feel uncomfortable, but people were shy in front of him.

He handed it back to me.

The 2nd time he disappeared, I went to the house to get the flash for the camera.

I saw it.

A pint of beer poured.

My heart stopped, my stomach erupted through my head and the tears were being held back with all my force.

I was supposed to go back and take pics of Our Fave's Mom opening her gifts.

No time to cry.

As soon as I was done however, I went home to find that Papi didn't drink the beer.

Not because he came to his senses, but because he was caught in the act.

His way of dealing is to relapse.

My way to deal with depression is to get so angry that my yelling actually scares away all the animals, for fear that they will be pulled into the eye of Hurricane Andréa.

Normally, they see me as all love.

I'm hurting and scared and feel so isolated, so when there were no friends to speak to by way of internet, well, I lost it.

Papi's grieving.

Today we put down Psycho Kitty.

Poor little critter has had enough.  I keep begging him to go to the angels on his own, but he's just too much of a fighter.

I've had enough of watching him suffer, not being able to even open his mouth enough to eat.

Papi's had enough of watching his little love slowly die before him.

Beyond the dying cat, there is so much exhaustion and trouble to deal with that we're at the point where we half heartedly spoke about the convenience of there being two guns for a double suicide.

This is not paradise.

Paradise is not a place.

Paradise is in your heart.

A beautiful view of the ocean does not cure a mental chemical imbalance.

i offer a sincere apology to those affected by my anger