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

gun therapy. oh yes.

While we were talking to the housekeeper at Casa Paraíso, telling her with all our sadness that we can't hire her full time when we move there, she told us in her broken English, "Get a pistol."

This is not because we won't hire her full time.  We told her she will be part of our family and that we'll take care of them best we can.  We already have plans in place to make them our DR Family.

She told us that the bandidos would come to rob us if they're not there full time, because we're gringos.

At first it was a little alarming, until I realized I finally get to have a gun and get to go back to the shooting range for practise.

Of course, people are a little worried about us, but I'm trying to reassure everyone we're going to be just fine.  

We're cool with it.  We love guns and I've always wished I had one to protect myself from predators.

I know that if I had one when I was younger, I wouldn't be living with P.T.S.D for the rest of my life.

I guess I will have to work on my anger management before we have an Uzi.

Also, there will be no sugar in my system to make sure there are no ocean side Hurricane Andréa sightings.

None-the-less, I promise you, this little femme will not hesitate to protect my home and family.

I also know, once we get the reputation for not taking any bullshit, the opportunists will leave us alone.

Not to mention, once we become a part of the community and show that we're there to help, not take, they will not want to diss us.

They don't diss family like people do here in our fair city of privileged white boys who don't give a shit about elders or children.

They respect those who respect family, and these lovely caretakers will be our family.

Dammit, I can't tell you how excited I am to start my target practise on Saturday.

I also have a couple of good friends who I've asked for help to get the best out of my practise.  One is my drummer from HECTOR who is the baby daddy of My Godson, The Turkey.

The other is the Godfather of The Turkey.  He's cleared to carry guns, and regularly goes to the shooting range to keep up his chops.

I'm sure they'll both want to get me the best I can be.

Envision this: I'm lying in my hammock, sipping on coconut water I got from our coconut palm in our yard.  The salty ocean breeze is drying my hair from the morning's ocean pain relief for my bitch of a back.  I may or may not have a missing tooth with a stalk of hay hanging from my mouth, instead of a cigarette, because cigarettes are gross.

Someone comes on the the property thinking that this li'l gabacha is an easy target to get past to take her items.

Wrong mother fucker.

See this Saturday-night Special?  I know how to use it.

He takes a step closer and the dirt beside him erupts from a bullet.  That is a warning, and one warning is all he gets.

I'll be sure to let him know the next one goes into his leg, prohibiting him from taking any steps closer.

That will take care of our reputation and will be the only time someone bothers to try and take advantage of us.

So, this weekend, I start target practise.

Perhaps, I should find myself some anger management to go along with it.

That, and there will be no sugar in my system to make sure my chemical imbalance is in check.

Good thing Papi and I don't drink.  There could be some troubles in Casa Paraíso if that were the case.

Lord knows that sliver of my Irish heritage comes out when I drink, and I become a leprechaun.

Just add alcohol and a gun.

i have deep faith and belief in myself

goodbye.

We had such a beautiful send off for The World's Loudest Snorer.

We all met at one of her favourite parks.  Really, it's one of every dog's favourite parks in the lower mainland of Vancouver.

Here's a blog dog's eye view of Bridgman Park.

Fortunately, we didn't have to walk very far to get to her spots she enjoyed.

Coincidentally, this was where I'd go for my lunch breaks when I was a piano teacher.  I would bring my Dearly Departed Gypsy to this little nook in Lynn Creek, and I'd watch her play with water, rocks and logs while I enjoyed my food.

Then I'd have to endure the wet dog smell in my tiny little hatchback of a car for the day.

Anyway, here we were again, only to say goodbye when the craziest thing happened!

It was the same damn thing that happened when we released my Dearly Departed Gyspy's ashes in the water at Ambleside Beach!!

... which is sorta like doggy disneyland if you want the visual ...

Dogs appeared like magic, and chased the ashes while they were carried away by the current of the ice cold water.

There was one who knew The World's Loudest Snorer, and another who didn't.

They chased the sweet loving energy as it traveled amongst the water.  It was as if their spirits had embraced the departed as they left.

When it happened with my babygirl Gypsy, I laughed because it would have been the only time that she was ever chased by another dog.  She would have never willingly allowed it.

No, she was a crotchety bitch from the day I got her.

Anyway, when the same thing happened with The Snorer, it was like the connection to my long lost girl was reaffirmed.  It was like she was right there with me, to say she's never going to leave me.

It was as if she came to take our recent loss's heart and guide it to where she needs to be, so that the newcomer may find peace and happiness.

There was also a few more amazing things that happened.

When we got there, there was another woman who had come to see her Fuzzy Family member off to be with the other dog's spirits.  We all embraced her and asked her to stay for our goodbye as well.  She had tears, we had tears, but all in all, she was a part of the healing as well.

Out of the thick of the trees came a dog I thought I recognized!  Could it be?

I turned around to see if my friend was there, then waved her over.

The moment she saw us, she said, "I could tell you were having a funeral ceremony, because she always seems to find those who are leaving us.  She finds these ceremonies everywhere she goes!"  She is another one to send off the spirits.

It was absolutely incredible to see these intuitive creatures join in and show us that even though we are hurting, there is still so much joy to come from our Fuzzy Families.

There is an extended Fuzzy Family that we don't really give credit to.  It's important to remember how connected these creatures are to us.

Our ceremony was followed by a picnic and playing in the park with my Godson and the rest of the family.

I realized two beautiful things on this day.

One, I am part of their family.  These beautiful souls accept Papi and I as a couple of token Honkies.  They love us just the same as if we were born to the family.

Two, The Godfather and I have no fucking idea what we'd do if we were called on to be permanent parents.

Does this:

... look like we know what we're doing?

Good god!!  The Turkey doesn't even want to get a picture with us.

Never mind.  He's still a part of our lives right now.  So is the energy of the sweet spirit who left us for good on this day.

regardless of the situation, life goes on

My Husbutch.

I have a Godson.

I refer to him as The Turkey.

Mostly because his little baby chub legs looked like you could break one off and have a Thanksgiving chomp.

He's walking now, so his legs are getting more svelte and are no longer appetizing.

Well, yesterday we celebrated his 2nd birthday party/Grey Cup party.

thank god we won ... i don't think i could handle another vancouver riot ...

As per The Turkey's momma's wish, I brought balloons galore to the party.  They were a magnanimous hit with The Turkey!  Now I know what I have to do every time I visit, so that I may be dubbed his absolute favourite tall person of all time!

Anyway, his Godfather was there too, and we are both so proud to be the Godparents of this little guy.

The Godfather offered to help me in with my balloons aplenty, as did The Turkey's brother that I refer to as The Porkchop.  He also had little baby chub legs that looked like you could break off a piece and have it for Christmas Dinner, but now he's all tall and lanky.  No meat on his teenage bones.

hey ... i know what you're thinking ... but i'm probably your favourite cannibal.

So, as we were heading to do the balloon deed, The Turkey's biological father ...

... and one of my best friends, who was best man at my wedding ...

... made a reference to The Turkey's baptism day when The Godfather and I had to repeat the vows from a pastor, then walk down the aisle, receiving beautiful smiles from the fellowship in their pews, to the back of the church.

But what these people didn't know about the newly dubbed Godparents, was that neither of us believe in God, nor follow religion, so it was completely awkward having to suffer through all the God talk just to be blessed as The Turkey's Godparents.

As we walked down the aisle, and all the good, God believers sang their song of praise, I leaned over to The Godfather and whispered, "I feel like we're in Whoville," which got a great laughing snort out of him.

Fast forward to yesterday, and there we were walking toward the door to get balloons, when The Turkey's bio-dad said, "There goes Andréa with the only man she'll ever say vows and walk down the aisle with."

I wanted to agree, but then I had this moment of thinking about Papi.

I married a butch.

A masculine woman.

The world's most perfect masculine woman, I may add.

One day, when I was clawing my way out of the catatonic tranny spell, my love had asked, "Do you think we could have a 2nd wedding, so that we can be pronounced man and wife?"

Of course, in response to the Tranny Terrorist, I quickly barked out, "No fucking way!!"

I mean really!  I've had my perfect wedding with my perfect butch.

How on earth could I ever marry a 'male', and live to tell the tale?!?

But there was a memory in this that I had spoken to a friend about.  I thought about how happy it would make my love to have his marriage certificate say male and female, instead of female and female.

I'm not rushing out to change our marriage certificate.

Hell fucking no!!!!

That bitch is mine!

But you never know.  Through this whole journey, I have learned a lot about the word, 'never'.

Never say, "Never", or it will come back and bite you in the ass.

At this point, I'm loving being married to my husbutch, and that's where I am 'right now'.