the gift

Papi is gone.

So is our electricity.

Tomorrow, I'll go see about buying a newer, used inverter.

I spend most of my day running to do things while I see the city power on.  "Quick!  Practise a set while you can!  Throw in a load of laundry!  See if Papi sent a message!"

Then in between, I try to find things to do without electricity: a little exercise, fold laundry, clean up dog poop, or just practise those Spanish lyrics over and over.

Today, the water gave out on me.

Back to flushing toilets with a bucket of water from the pool, not to mention a pool bath.

I'll be getting a super duper special 8 a.m. visit from our plumber tomorrow morning.

Maybe there will be electricity so I can get an extra couple of hours practise in.

I definitely need it.

This whole 'translating to Spanish' thing is consuming my days.

My obsession.

It's so lovely to sing all day, but when your memory leaves as MUCH to be desired as mine does, it's a little frustrating.

I feel like I'm forever going to be tied to a sheet of paper with words on it.

Anyway, while I was practising yesterday, I had a special visit.

No, not 20 children at my gate screaming my name in unison to be sure I heard it.

... you think i'm kidding ... don't you?? ... nope ...

It was Housemaid.

It never really occurred to me just how much it meant to people here that we played Santa.

But there she stood, with a bouquet of flowers in hand.

Beautifully wrapped in a pink mesh type paper infused with lines of sparkly gold, and a gold ribbon bow to tie it all in a grand package.

Never have flowers ever looked so beautiful.

2 bright sunflowers, with gads of purple daisies, surrounded by little yellow buds peeking in from the not so empty spaces.

Oh, and a card, which read, "On behalf of the children and families in the village, Blessings."

This bouquet would be a VERY nice gift for someone, when you go to their birthday or any other time people want to bring some love to you, but this one?

It took about 15 people to scrape together the money to buy this gift.

I am floored.

They were so grateful for what we did for them for X-Mas.

When I was worried about dipping further into the credit cards to do this, I didn't really know that it would be as appreciated as it was.

I cried a couple of tears from the pure love I felt.

Papi wasn't here to receive this love, but he felt it from afar.

He could really use love.

His trip hasn't turned out so well.

The family he was staying with didn't quite treat him with much respect.

Imagine being alone at the house of part of your 'family' for X-Mas because your 'family' said you weren't invited to be with them where they were having dinner?

Then get kicked out on X-Mas night with no warm clothes and nowhere to go because you told this 'family' how you feel?

Yeah.  Merry fucking X-Mas to you, too.

Anyway, Papi will get to come home to love.

And hopefully electricity.

One thing is for sure, by not having any electricity, this house is sure tidy.

I've also managed to slim down a little from the ankle fat, as well as strengthen my ankle so much that I can almost get up and down stairs without pain!

Anyway, I better upload this before the electricity goes again!!

i choose to consciously surround myself with positivity

misogyny

Yeah, it's been a few days since I've posted.

I'm not sure why, but I needed to be silent for a bit.

I am having a rough time at the school.

I completely understand the lack of respect toward women in a developing country, but it doesn't make it any easier when the people who give me a hard time aren't even from the Dominican Republic.

You think the boys club in Canada is bad?

Yeah.  No.

Like for instance, this one cretin bought all the teachers a coffee, except me.

Guess who's the only female music teacher?

After our performance for the teachers in the school, the mother of one of the girls I teach named and thanked every music teacher for all they do.

Except me.

Even though I am the one who teaches her daughter, being the only female at the school I am not worthy of acknowledgement.

I work hard for these kids and I don't ask for anything more than my happiness and some gasoline to get there, which the woman who runs the place STILL hasn't given me.

But she pays all the men.

Still, Papi and everyone else says, "Just leave the school."

But I can't leave these girls.

Oh, did I tell you?  the only instrument they let the girls play is piano?

So, if I leave the school for this reason or that, guess who suffers?

Girls.

There is a school here that is solely for girls: Mariposa DR Foundation.

I'll write an email to ask if they have a program there for music.

One thing I am grateful for, however, is MusicMan.

He constantly and consistently thanks me for my work.

When the dude with a Jesus Fish tattooed on his arm bought everyone a coffee except me, MusicMan got a cup from the kitchen and shared his with me.

MusicMan is lovely.

It almost made me cry from the love.

He has no idea what he did for me that day.

Knowing that everyone was thanked for their teaching except me, at the end of the class he said, "Thank you for your work with the children."

When I texted him to tell him I needing a day away from the school to go back to the doctor in Santiago for my ankle this week, he chose the best day for me to be away, then again texted, "Thank you for your work with the children."

He is a special man.

He is not Dominican, he is from Peru.

Maybe they have more respect for women there?

Or maybe he's just one of those gems in this world that makes everything better and worth the pain.

That lovely example of Christianity, JesusFishMan, doesn't even make eye contact with me, and he's not from the DR either.

He's American.

He treats me like I'm some kind of abscess.

I've come the the conclusion that anyone who flaunts their JesusFish is an asshole.

I am not feeling the love.

We all know how much I need love.

I am however, sticking by these children who appreciate my leadership, and MusicMan, because I definitely feel the love from them.

They are the reason I stick around.

Their joy of getting through a song makes up for the misogyny.

i seek a new way of thinking about this situation

dear sir, you are loved.

So, there I was, amongst a bunch of people from our village at the Party At The Gas Station!!! the night I was practicing drunk crutching, and there was a moment that was more than a little difficult.

Homophobia is rampant here on this island of Dominican Republic and Haiti, and people can be killed for it.

Well, there was a young, flamboyant, out gay man out at the party.

The folks from our group looked to me to joke about this sweet soul with them.

I finally figured out what they were laughing at, realizing it was this lovely person whom I had greeted with a very friendly, "Hola!!" the moment he came in.

I thought he was a rock star for putting himself out there, and thought the girls he came in with were the best friends to have.

Real friends with real love.

The danger is very real, but he chooses not live in fear for whom he is.

He was splendid.

So, when I realized they were looking to me to join them in the belittling, I exclaimed, "You mean that beautiful man?!?!" I placed my hands on my heart to emphasize just how much admiration I had for him, continuing with as much zeal as I could, "He's SOOOOOO BEAUTIFUL!!"

Then, with as perky a positive attitude I could, I added, "He is wonderful and I LOVE him so much!" Hoping this would squelch the temptation to include me in the ritual of spitting out hateful comments.

I continued, "We have so many homosexuals in Canada.  It's wonderful!" not going into the truth of the matter, which is that there are plenty closeted gays here.

They all stopped and looked at each other, not quite sure what to say, or do, as they don't normally get this kind of reaction.

Then one of them said to the others, "Ohhhhh!  Canada."  They nodded, knowingly to one another that we think differently.

Papi said he didn't know how he'd deal with that.

However, Papi is in fear that they will figure out his secret.

It could be equally as dangerous.

I know that people are seriously in danger on this planet for being who they are, and it's a serious topic, but getting angry to teach people is not the answer.

With hate in their heart, people tried to accuse me of being racist and classist, and did it in such a mean hurtful way.

Their actions will never leave my soul.

But I do know, you don't have to be angry and hateful to teach people.

The people I was with that night got to see that there is a different way to react, even though they've been taught to react to adversely.

I wouldn't be able to teach anyone anything about homophobia in one night.

All they get to know, is that one person out there thinks that young guy is wonderful, special, and is loved.

That there CAN be a different reaction.

There is so much to be angry about in this world.

There is so much to take away from beauty, if we let it.

I certainly wouldn't be leaving myself approachable to anyone asking questions about the topic if I was an angry asshole.

I certainly wouldn't be influencing anybody if I treated people here the same way people I thought were 'friends' back home treated me.

Those expelling bad vibes are expunged from my life, and if any of them thought I had something to learn, and wanted to teach me, well, it's too late.

My spirit is closed to their negativity.

They were trying to spread more hate.

So much can be done with love.

Hate?

Nah.

You can't fight hate with hate.

Only love wins.

Dearest beautiful, gay man, you are SO loved!

i choose to stop apologizing for being me

Beautiful

The dogs slept through the ENTIRE night!

As in snoring, dreaming of chasing cane toads, and letting out the stinkiest farts, due to the hotdog nibs I've been giving them for training rewards.

Do you know how I KNOW they slept the ENTIRE night?

Because I didn't.

Not a wink.

Full on fucking insomnia.

It may be a double coffee day.

I'm not good at having naps in the day then trying to sleep at night.

It has never worked for me.

But what could I do?

Those little pills Dr. Bob gave me knocked me out.

And they really worked.

My ankle is very close to being deflated and boney once more.

Anyway, all night long, I had the pleasure of running a song through my head that I worked on all day yesterday.

You know the song.

There's no way you wouldn't, unless you live in a time warp bubble of some kind.

Christina Aguilera's 'Beautiful'.

I'm trying to find as many positive, inspirational songs for the kids as possible, because the songs they choose are just about sex.

This whole country is all about sex.

As much as they are songs I am drawn to as well, with their contagiously characteristic beats of the Dominican Republic, I can't have them singing that for people from other countries when it's time to perform.

I know it's culture here, but I just can't chance that there's a Canadian predator in the audience who speaks Spanish, getting off because my little innocent children are singing suggestive lyrics.

So, I am translating 'Beautiful' into Spanish.

The translation was already online, but not the pentameter.

I've had to go through every single syllable and beat, to try to figure out the placement of each word.

I'll tell you, my brain has not had this much stimuli since the motorcycle accident, and that includes rewiring from brain injury.

It's so good for me.

Like, REALLY good.

Except for the obsession part.

Before the accident, I would have sheer infatuation with whichever song I was working on.

It was just part of my everyday breathing, that reverence.

Before the accident, I felt emotion with music and would frequently cry when a song I was working on moved me in the right way.

Yesterday, while working out the piano part for the song, that grace returned.

I was singing the English lyrics to get my singing/playing coordination down for the Spanish parts, when all of a sudden, I felt my heart being overtaken with elation.

The instrumentation, the melody, the words, they all came together to give me that feeling of the real reason I make music.

It actually happened.

I wiped the tears of joy away, thanking the angels for that moment.

I've been working towards that feeling since the accident.

I honestly thought I was broken.

I accepted that I would never feel like that again.

I felt I would just fake it for the rest of my life, but the real thing happened.

I spent 4.5 years rehabbing my body and mind from the accident.

Now it's time to rehab my musicianship.

And it is something beautiful.

Beautiful.

i fully approve of who i am, even as i get better

the thug.

I was so afraid.

We drove 2 hours to meet the rescue dog and I knew I'd fall in love, but that didn't change the fact that perhaps he could be aggressive toward our others.

He was obviously used as the bait in the dog fights they have here.

The scars.

Oh, the scars.

Hundreds of them and some, really deep.

It's heartbreaking.

When he was dumped at the side of the road, the people who found him rushed him to a vet to take care of the horrifically terrible gouge on his chest.

They kept him in their yard while searching for someone to rescue him and give him the loving home he needs to repair his past.

They weren't taking any chances with their own Fuzzy Family by introducing him to them.

I don't blame them.

However, I suppose the poor thing was just not a very good fighting dog, as they wouldn't have just tossed him and his chain off to the side of the road if the fucktards thought he was worth keeping.

So, that gave me confidence that MAYBE, just maybe The Thug wasn't going to kill our dogs, but you still never know.

We picked up Pathetic Puppy from the AAAS after being sterilized and damn!  The Thug got a woody upon seeing her.

The Thug spent the rest of the ride home wanting desperately to get to the girl in the back.

I sat with her to protect her from the horndog in the front, and held on to his leash in front that was tied up to the holy-fuck-handle.

That damn handle comes in handy for more than just white knuckling it while Papi drives like a lunatic.

Anyway.

I still couldn't be sure if The Thug's pecker hanging out was for excitement of love, or excitement at getting in a fight.

Well, when we got home, we put Pathetic Puppy upstairs for her post-op rest, and released The Thug out to the rest of the hounds.

Unbelievable.

He fit in right away.

Everyone likes him.

Everyone got along.

The Donkey is thoroughly enjoying running around with him and The Thug is thoroughly enjoying marking everything he possibly can.

I hope the hundreds of scars on his head and body fade, as much as I hope his memories of a previous life do the same.

He's quite lovely and cuddly, even though I am definitely allergic to him.

I have welts and hives all over.

That doesn't matter.

Just means I'll have to wash my hands and arms a little more frequently.

Or hop in the ocean.

So far, he's working out just fine, and the AAAS will be PROMPTLY removing his balls tomorrow to dispel his testosterone.

Something else that is working out fine, is having let out my now not so secret secret.

So far, I haven't had too many people tell me I'm doing the worst thing possible.

The shame and embarrassment are pretty hard surrounding this.

Yet, that glass of wine after a long stressful day being lost in the bumpy, dirt roads of the Dominican Republic mountains, with a battered, emotionally damaged dog who would give Dave Batista a run in the ring, was just the thing I needed to defuse the day that never seemed to end.

It truly is all good.

i am supported

6 months

Tomorrow, we will have been here 6 months.

I knew my life would change, but I didn't know to what extent.

Who knew I could get used to microwaving my water for coffee when we've run out of gas?

This princess has never lived in the country.

I have learned to have a bath in a bowl when the electricity stops.

I have learned the importance of positivity in life when cruelty erupts from people I thought were friends, showing their true colours because they don't have to face us every day in our hometown.

My, how easy it is to lash out at someone via the internet!

I have learned that we lived like royalty in Vancouver, even though I'm grateful not to live with the cold &/or rain.

I do love the rain here, even yesterday, when it was pouring so hard that I looked like I'd taken a shower with my clothes on just running 20 feet to the car.

At least it's warm and it doesn't hurt my bitch of a back.

I have learned how to roast my own coffee, dry my own coconut, and make my own fruit juice by hand.

I've also learned that washing my clothes by hand rubs my skin raw.  I have learned there are some things I can't do.

I have witnessed how horribly government can treat their people, and every day, I ask my angels to allow everyone in the country access to healthy, clean water, health care and electricity.

Every day, I try to think of more ways I can help the village without going further into debt.

I am grateful that Papi researched the dangers and took measures to give us great deterrents for the violent thieves.

The violent thieves are not those that live with us in the village.  Well, other than The Guard who has been to jail.

The thieves come from other areas, hearing about someone who may be alone and/or have something they want.

A target, who has easy access to get into their home.

Our home is not easy access.

It doesn't mean we're exempt, as the greatest trick the thieves have is to poison the dogs and come back the next day while you're grieving to rob you.

However, scaling a wall may cause them to be seen and security cameras may cause them to be identified.

We have deterrents.

A woman in Cabrera was murdered this week.  She was stabbed and her throat slit.  Perhaps a crime of passion?  Perhaps not?

During the past week's shitstorm of nastiness, someone told me I was a bad person, assuming I have guns "... to keep out the poor."

No.  We have guns to defend ourselves from the violence that has risen 3x since our decision to be here.

Just because someone is poor, does NOT make them violent.  You hear me?

Some thieves come in a uniform, originally meant to portray, 'We're here to protect you'.

The police arrested 3 people for the murder this week, but did they take the opportunity to arrest anyone they had a grudge against?  Merely to give the facade that they have done their job?

I have learned it's possible to trust a doctor with my health here.

Mr. Lumpy is gone!  Just over 2 weeks of using his recommended vitamins and amino acids and Mr. Lumpy is 100% gone!

I wonder what chemical poisons they would have given me in Canada, so the doc would get one point closer to a golfing trip or cruise for prescribing them?

I have learned that I cannot live to please anybody, because I can't, and I'm the only one I have to please.

I have learned what culture shock means.

I have learned I am truly that strong person people have told me I am for the past few years.

I have learned the importance of love, even when it's only by way of texting, or a quick G+ chat with family.

I have learned some of the most generous people out there are those with the least to give.

Generosity has nothing to do with money.

It is honestly the spirit.

i am happy in my own skin and my own circumstances

it's simple

He is American and talented.

He sang his American national anthem.

From the stands, those who have been taught racism rang out, "BOOOOO!!" because of the colour of his skin.

Why?

Today, important once again to search for simple joy.

Puppy nibbles on toes.

His little body twists and turns with exultation for no reason other than to express his merriment for living.

A walk with Papi and the Fuzzy Family down the beach as we giggle at their antics of jumping in and amongst the waves, rolling, tumbling.

We floated around in the pool, I drinking lime water for my stomach that seems to have come into contact with some bug, from somewhere, Papi drinking soda, of course.

We taught Pathetic Puppy and Jake-a-Like how to swim and exit, so that they could save themselves if they ever fell in to the pool.

This, while The Donkey swam laps around them.

I taught children piano, watching their pride glow as they felt the strength of playing the line right.

One little soul pulled on my heart strings.

We both wore glasses.

She liked mine, I liked hers.

She helped me with my Spanish, I helped her with her staccatos.

I felt connection to her awkwardness, and the wanting so badly to be loved and have approval.

Something as effortless as encouragement in her fledgling musicianship made us both feel strong.

It gave us an acquaintance where nothing mattered for that half hour, but the lesson and sharing the music.

MusicMan gave me a great hug when he saw me yesterday.

He had gratitude for me being there, I had gratitude that he was happy to see me.

Simply joy.

He told me he spoke to the BigWigs and it looks like I'll get paid for my work in September.

I'm already being paid in my heart, but a little reimbursement for my gas will be the cherry on top.

I was tired and weak when I arrived at Dream Project.

I left energized and ready to make more of my day than I had in a few days, from feeling so weighted in my heart.

When I arrived home, The Carpenter followed me in to our driveway with an offer: if I pay for the wood, he will make seats for the children of The Garage Band no charge.

It's happening!

People are starting to help with the children.

I only took the first steps.

But now, I am seeing others follow for their support.

Soon, they'll have a place to sit as they sing.

Simple joy.

This is only the beginning.

I'm so happy for them, and yes, for me.

It means their energetic, wiggly little bodies won't be squirming all over the place.

They'll have somewhere to plant themselves to listen a little better to instructions.

Seats.

Something so uncomplicated, yet another step toward more jubilance, love and gratitude.

It's simple to find, when you focus on the good.

Joy.

i feel good doing things that improve the well being of others

be kind to one another

I remember once, I had to stop watching TV, because of what I saw.

Someone had killed a bear that was rampaging through neighbourhoods in search of food, and unfortunately, killed someone in that desperate search.

They pulled the bear up into the back of a pickup truck as if it were a sack of garbage.

I conceded.

I decided my heart was just too sensitive to deal with seeing these kinds of things.

It was good for me.  I threw away my TV and got on with life, realizing there is so much more to do than watch the bad news.

I realized that I would hear about the news if it was important enough.

Right now, things are important enough, and I'm having a hard time understanding the state of the human race.

Not to mention, automatically being clumped into the same category of supremacists because of the colour of my skin.

I read so much of what people posted about the brazen racism that is unfolding in this world in silence, as I felt I wasn't entitled to an opinion, even if I agree.

Some people were blatant about not being entitled to an opinion, when people said, "White people are not allowed to comment on this, even if they are in support."

However, even though they are excluding an entire race, we are not allowed to call it racism, discrimination, nor segregation.

It still hurts no matter what anyone calls it.

Indeed, two wrongs never make a right, but I kept reading, no matter how much it hurt to read how someone was treated for being a person of colour.

Then I googled one simple word and found more malice in antisemitism.  Don't read THIS if you are as sensitive as me.

Hatred comes in so many forms, and I realize now that people will use it in as many ways as they can.

I haven't been able to write the last few days from the pain of how people can treat one another.

Trayvoning?

Seriously?

How can people JOKE about the killing of a child?

I need to stop this roller coaster of witnessing venom in every corner.  I'm far too sensitive for this.

I need to continue with being who I am, doing what I do, knowing that I am not harming anybody with my intentions.

Rather, I am doing anything I can to uplift another person, knowing the damage others can bring by putting one another down.

I need to continue with the words of Mother Teresa, even if I'm not the religious person she is.  She is right, and spirituality comes in many fashions.

I feel, right now, that the world is on the brink of 'Divided We Fall'.

We have to come together to help each other and stop fighting.

The bad will take control if the good don't link arms in strength.

Please.  Be one of the good to help stop the hatred toward one another, no matter who we are.

We need to stay together to stay strong.

I'm taking a short break from surfing around Fecesbook for a few days.  I am far too sensitive for it.

I'll keep writing here.

I've been too afraid to voice my opinion, until this morning, when I realized that if there are people spreading hate online, I have every right to spread love.

This is not entitlement of being white.

This is entitlement of a human being.

Today's mantra from Ellen DeGeneres:

be kind to one another

we are happy

... your sunday sillies: crash!! ...

Oh, how I love the children in The Garage Band!

Word is starting to spread and more are coming to join us.

Initially, I didn't want to teach the teenagers, I wanted to keep it to the wee ones, but I'm sure glad I chose to include them.

It was so nice to work with them, and I think they really enjoyed themselves.

I now have to split everyone up into 3 groups, because different ages need different instruction.

For instance, the 2 tiniest of them all.

The lowest to the ground prances around without any pants.

It makes sense.

If his parents can't afford diapers, then it's best to just let him do what he needs to do without the obstruction of clothing.

His pants would be messy to clean all day long, considering this little guy is only about 2 years old and accidents are in abundance.

So, there he was, with his little willy waving about in the air.

I figured there would be piddle all over our carport, but he managed to keep it in.

He wasn't there to do music, so much as just there to be with all the big kids.

The second small-fry was pretty in her best dress.

Can I tell you what an honour it is to have parents dress their children in their best clothes for the lesson?!?!

I showed up stinky, in dirty clothes, as I only woke up in enough time to get coffee into my system and open the garage door to begin teaching.

Having children dressed in fancy threads made me feel their gratitude for lessons.

In turn, I had gratitude for the children merely showing up!

Anyway, this little doll in her Sunday Best was really too young to keep up with everyone, but she tried.

OH, how she tried

Whatever anyone else did, she would attempt to copy, and do it with immense zeal!

Her voice was voluminous!

Her clapping was colossal and packed a punch!

Nothing was in the right time, nor were there proper words, but her intent was so strong that I could feel the music just waiting to come out when it's time for her to truly understand all the emotion that brews within her.

It made me tingle.

Even the dogs in the hood came by to watch.

Upon smelling the mutts that were invading their space, our hounds were barking at them through the door of the garage.

No matter.  We all sang loud enough to overpower their cacophony.

Speaking of the neighbourhood dogs, today is our day to volunteer to give them all heart worm medicine.

We were going to do it a few weeks ago, but I got so busy and so tired.

We are armed with hotdogs to entice them, and candy for the children as we go along.

Papi wants to win their hearts with candy, because he feels I get all the love and he's a tad jealous as we drive down our bumpy road, listening to the chorus of 'Andréa! Andréa! Andréa!' bellowing through the village.

Hopefully, as we pass through, I'll find the shyest of The Garage Band and give him a little boost of a quick lesson so that he will feel more confident next round.

The underdog.

I always love the underdog.

I want to help him shine amongst the others.

If you're reading this and you'd like to help the children by sending percussive instruments, we would all be so grateful.

Shakers!  Wood blocks!  Anything you have that you just don't use would be MORE than appreciated if you can send it:

Andréa Hector-Brown 

10800 NW 103 St. 

Ste. 5E

Medley, Florida 

33178

United States

Right now, we just clap.

And we are happy.

i compare myself only to my highest self

just love me

Well, Chantal was pretty calm on this side of the island.

Yeah, I drove through some heavy rain, and the thunder was AMAZING!!!

But there was no wind and nothing to write home about.

However, I guess I do have something to write home about; the lack of entertainment mother nature provided yesterday.

I was anticipating encountering my first true, tropical storm.

People on the south of the island got hit quite hard and unfortunately, one person died.

They had a lot of flooding and no power.

They looked a bit like Toronto or Calgary in Canada this past Spring.

Us?  Well, our gardens got quite the feeding yesterday.

Because Papi and I were not ready for our anniversary, our day was celebrated by lying around in bed, oohing and ahhing at the lighting and thunder, and watching the first episode of Dexter.

Ooooh that new character is a good one, but damn, that show is not the same with the bleeping of every 'fuck', 'shit' and blurring of boobs.

We also looked for our dwelling for our anniversary vacation, but everything is booked.

Talk about leaving things to the last minute.

We suck!

Mind you, things have been a 'tad' hectic around here.

I remembered about our anniversary the last week of June, then of course, stress set in and out the back door went that memory.

At least I beat Papi to the punch of being the first to say it on our day.

I waited and waited for him to wake up, and at the crack of 3 p.m. I turned off his air conditioning and up he was!

I also took the opportunity to yet again, email someone I thought was a friend, who owes us money.

Here is my newest 'rule' of life.

Never, ever, ever, ever, ever, put money between a friendship.

Give!  Yes!

We gave to a friend in need yesterday, when her poor sweet kitty needed medical attention and she had no money.

Yes, we give, and we receive when we are in need as well, no problem.

But selling, renting, or any other 'business' with a friend is now off limits.

First of all, we've been waiting for the money for a few months past when she said she'd pay, but the worst part?

I've lost a friend, because she won't even speak to me.  She won't even return my emails.

Most people, when I tell the story to them, they merely say she was never a friend to begin with and that I haven't lost much with someone who is dishonest.

However, I am sad.

I am always sad when I lose a friend that I love, and go through all the steps of grieving what's vanished.

No matter what it is they do to hurt me, no matter how much anger I feel, I am still sad at the disappearance of someone I considered a friend.

I just want to be loved, and I swear, it's one of my top missions in life.

Love me.  I just can't handle the rejection.

Yet somehow, not only am I rejected by one person, I seem to get entire PODS and cliques who ostracize me with one word from their leader who tells them to do so.

I suppose, people only do this to people who seem strong, to try to knock them down.

I suppose, people see me as strong.

I suppose, all those who tell me I am, are correct.

I suppose, what I gain when someone hurts my heart, is my spirit is pulled closer to those who are endless with their love for me.  It shows me just how good people CAN be in this world.

Still, my poor little heart aches when I have experienced the failure of a friend.

My dear, you have indeed wounded me.

Maybe everyone was right, that you never intended to pay us the money, even though you wrote us a contract.

Fool me once.

Indeed, your karma awaits.

i receive all feedback about a decision with love, but make the final call myself

happy anniversary my love

There's supposed to be a tropical storm that could turn into a hurricane.

No, not Hurricane Andréa.

I'm doing fine for a change.

An ACTUAL tropical storm.

Papi has been talking about it for the last week and I just keep rolling my eyes and pooh-pooh-ing him when he mentions it.

One of the perks of living on the North Coast, is we don't get hit by many of the storms.

So, I just keep giggling at him and smiling when he goes on about it.

Then, Jersey Girl wrote me an email giving me all kinds of tips on how to stay safe during the storm that is supposed to hit.

Well, she's been here for a while, so yeah, I'll listen to her.

We scrambled about, bringing in anything that could fly around and take out Pathetic Puppy's other eye,  closed the all the windows, then went to bed.

I got up this morning to a beautiful day.

Sun shining, waves calm, and then with no warning, it all went away and the rain started.

That's one thing that makes me feel at home here.

It's just like Vancouver in the sense that if you don't like the weather, wait 10 minutes and it will turn on a dime.

Only the rain here in the Dominican Republic puts Vancouver to shame, making Vancouver's rain seem like just a spit compared our monsoons.

Anyway, the thunder is rolling in and I love it!

But it meant that I had to come in from the outdoors.

I came in to find a chicken scratch note from my love.

Pathetic Puppy was at it again last night, only in an activity that could have killed her.

The tumultuous cane toad.

She was playing with it.

It could have killed her with it's defence mechanism of spewing poison.

So, my love had to give the baby a poison kit.

Having a gut of steel, this dog can take anything.

She seriously is from hell.

She's a bit like me.

You can't kill me, or her.

In Papi's note, he mentioned it's under a dog bowl by the pool.

Dominican Daddy is here doing his fancy yard work and I told him about the problem, but obviously not knowing the word for 'toad' in Spanish.

So, first thing in the morning, there I was doing charades.

He laughed, then merely lifted the dog bowl Papi had trapped it under and threw it into the ocean, shaking his head at the silly gringa.

We are so not used to this world.

One day, it will be second nature and I'll be tossing out the cane toad without a blink, ready for any tropical storm that threatens us and nobody will laugh at our dramatic ways, because we'll be relaxed.

One day.

Today is not that day.

As I watch the storm roll in, and Dominican Daddy work his magic in the yard, I'm still amazed that we are here.

We're actually here.

And today?

Today is our anniversary.

We were not ready for it, so next weekend we'll be celebrating.

We're going to go see a part of the island that had us dizzy in circles once.

This time, we're going to google it and get there and back without a problem.

We're actually going to have a mini-holiday and see this fine island that is now home.

Happy anniversary, baby.

We did it.

We really, really did it.

my friends do not judge me, nor do they influence what i do with my life

kill them now.

I'm going to lose it with these puppies.

Yesterday, they wreaked havoc.

It wasn't just the 2 whole chicken breasts Pathetic Puppy ate.

No.

Then it was the holes.

Not just any holes.

Holes dug through the ground and under the wall.

I had seen the holes earlier and thought it was the monsoon we experienced earlier in the day.

However, upon answering the door after it chimed, I knew otherwise.

There stood Dominican Daddy with Pathetic Puppy and the Jake-A-Like in hand.

It was clear at that moment that they found their escape.

I showed Dominican Daddy where the holes were and as we were discussing how to fix them, both those little fuckers used their new departure route, leaving the yard once more.

Oh, they were so proud of themselves.

So proud.  The looks on their faces!

"Look what we did, Mom!!!"

Yes.

Indeed.

Look what you did.

Papi finally got up to help me with the vermin and I thought that their destruction may have been done for the day.

That was of course until this morning when I got up to find they had eaten some of the cheese cloth one of my dear sweet friends so generously mailed me.

You can't find cheesecloth on this fucking North side of the country, because people are too poor to buy it.

They just use their hands to do the work.

I had used some of it yesterday to make some mango juice.  Worked great!

I even washed out the cheesecloth to reuse it once more to save them.  I don't want to ever be without them again!

But no, the puppies like cheesecloth too.

They didn't eat it all, but I noticed the opened package was gone and asked Papi if it was true, that the puppies wrecked that as well.

It's true.

I want to kill them.

I want to take them to the sea and let mother nature wash them away.

I want to make puppy stew.

They are demons from hell.

Demons who just gave me the sweetest little kisses that took away all my anger.

How do they do that?

How do they make me love them after I'm ready to drop them off at the doggy shelter?

Today, I'll be buying chicken wire to put in the ground to deter them from digging anymore.

Maybe get some baby locks for the cupboards.

Fuckers.

i refuse to give up because i have not tried all possible ways

are we musicians born crazy?

I had a brief conversation with a wonderful G+ Friend who is a VERY creative and talented animator.

Check out his web page.

Yesterday, he touched on a subject that I've always thought about.

My theory has always been, that musicians are born with a certain amount of insanity, and are given the gift of music to deal with it.

It's the only way I can come close to meditation.

When I play, nothing else exists, except for the harmonics of music that fill the air.

I breathe in the notes, as they wipe my mind clear of all trouble.

There is no pain.

There is no strife.

No laundry, dishes, debt or fear.

There is only music.

I remember when I had the big ending, of hopefully my last and final nervous breakdown, when chemical imbalance really took me down, urging me to finally got on medication I so badly needed.

I was crying incessantly, and there was nothing that could stop me.

Except my cello.

I would play and the tears would stop, however, there was those 3 seconds that I had to stop to turn the page.

I would cry as I turned each page, then stop again as I played the song.

Crazy, huh?

Well, last night, I started to wonder about the brain and how it's wired.

Is it possible, that maybe we are born just fine, but when we play music, we establish contact with a different part of the brain that most don't use?

That angle where the key to unlocking it is made only through the connection of music and other arts.

A hidden passage that only artistic people haunt.

The dark side.

But then, what about people who have a chemical imbalance and have never had the chance to discover their craft?

How do they cope?

I have a friend, who just this week, began suffering greatly at the hands of fallen love.

It's the first time she's been 'in love'.

She is in so much pain from the jerk-oid who dumped her.

It's easy enough for me to say she shouldn't be, because she's the most lovely person and deserves so much goodness in her life.

Alas, tell that to her ailing mind that spits out the feelings of rejection and loss.

How does one cope without artistry to get them through?

I've never known the answer to that, because I've always had my creativity.

Even after the motorcycle accident, when my brain was rebooting from the crash, I turned to writing here.

I turned to writing my story, which lead to writing other stories.

It was my means of escape when I didn't have the ability to play my music.

Everyone needs escape.

People knit, craw, make gifs, paint, write, play music, or even cook.

Creativity is so important to getting through pain.

But which of my theories is correct?

Are we born crazy and art is given to help us cope?

Or are we born sane and art opens Pandora's Box?

Either way, creative or not, I'd love to hear what you think about this.

I'd also love to hear how you cope if you haven't found your artistic inspiration yet.

In the meantime, I'll be looking forward to my new keyboard on Monday, and a new opportunity to play with the MusicMan.

My escape from insanity.

i am my own unique self - special, creative and wonderful

i'm know i'm alive, because i'm learning.

I'm finding a lot 'to do' to keep my mind busy and out of mischief.

Wielding the machete like a crazed hellion yesterday, I drained the water of 9 coconuts, saved it in the freezer for a daily dose, then scooped the meat out of the young ones and made coconut cream.

Today, I'll be taking the meat out of the older coconuts, shredding and drying it for treats later!!

They make it look easy to make your own coconut oil online, and of course being the determined culinarian disciple I am, I'll try to make it myself, but it will be QUITE the trial and error.

Anyway, the moment the men see me trying to emulate them opening a coconut on my own, they come over to the 'damsel in distress' and take the machete from me without words, implying, "Here little lady, let me show you how it's done."

But how am I supposed to learn, if I don't do it myself?

So, I would watch and study them, then practised when they weren't looking.

I finally did it right, then I went over and proudly displayed my first successfully cleaved coconut.

I showed them that I am capable of survival, that I'm learning fast, and that I am not your typical girl.

With my determined learning, it occurred to me, all the information cultivated in Al-Anon ...

... which, for those of you out there who are not related to, or are alcoholics, is for the person affected by someone else's drinking/drugging ...

... could possibly be of great use to me right now.

Again, how am I supposed to learn, if I don't do it myself?

Years ago, I went to Al-Anon without being attached to an addict, but was there to heal from the damage of a recent partner's heroin habit and the father I never had, due to his addiction.

Really, the whole premise is, you can be happy and serene, and can still show respect and care for the person you love, even if they're suffering from addiction.

So far, Papi isn't suffering, except for the fact that he has had a lot of trouble with falling these days, which is completely unrelated to drinking.  He fell out of bed AGAIN today, so we're going to have to get him crib bumpers soon.

I'm the only one who's suffering, so I'll be joining those online meetings now.

I kept myself busy hacking away at coconuts until I had blisters on the heel of my palm and the inner knuckle of my thumb.  My tendons also feel like they need some loving attention.

Not to mention, it wasn't the best thing for my bitch of a back, but I'm still better off than I was in the cold of Vancouver.

I healed with sleep, and this morning, there are no Limping Lesbians in the house.

Then, there were the bananas with more to learn.  I never knew that once a banana tree dons you with bananas, it dies, because its life cycle is finished.

The bananas are the big ending and even look like it.  They're like a great, green mass of stagnant fireworks, complete with the 'oohs' and 'ahhs' of passers by.

So, all those banana plants I had Dominican Daddy pull from the ground should have stayed there, because the only bananas I have now are the ones that just became ready for consumption.

However, I was a little too late picking them from the tree, and the bananas had to be eaten rather quickly.

No problem.  I made chocolate-banana ice cream from a recipe I found online.

Sorry.  But that shit's disgusting.  I'll try to make something more with it, as we have to be quite thrifty these days and I wouldn't want to waste the locally made chocolate I received as a gift!!

Then, I decided to simply eat a banana as my first meal in 3 days.  It did me good, because I also brought one up to Papi seeing as I noticed he hadn't been eating either.

We shared our first meal together.

So now that I've learned about bananas, the baby banana buds will never be clawed from the ground.

They grow in mere days those buggers!  I'm not exaggerating.  I had Dominican Daddy pull about 6 plants out and there were 2 more in their place within a week.

They are actually weeds!  Who knew?!?!  Definitely not this city slicker.

Anyway, I shared the bananas with all the workers to be sure they didn't go to waste and this morning, the workers returned the favour by bringing me my absolute favourite fruit: mangos.

I learned about bananas, how to properly profit from a machete, and how to be loving, even in the face of fear.

There's so much to learn in this life.

Still, like I always maintain; if you're not learning, it means you're already dead.

i choose love, joy and freedom

i can do this.

OK.

So I'm a sick puppy.

I never said I wasn't.

Papi said it's not right of me to speak publicly about just how deranged I can get at times.

Hey!

What kind of entertainment would you have if I didn't?

Anyway, I'm feeling a lot less self-destructive today, although I now have to deal with the Anorexia Monster who took over 3 days ago.

Still, this is a substantial start.

We spoke last night, long after his 'normal drinking' didn't lead to doom and destruction, and he told me it's also not right of me to talk about his business.

Fair enough, I apologized.  I'll do my best to keep this to my problems.

However, I'll tell you something.  Someone out there, right now, is going through the same fucking emotions as I'm going through right now.

They're dealing with the same pain.

They need to hear that they are NOT alone and can get through it too, by being honest.

I am not ashamed of my lunacy.

It is who I am.

I was born this way.

Trust me.

I put my mother and my baby sister through hell when my utter unsound mind kicked in at the age of 10.

I was given the gift of music to help me through these times, only I can't use it right now, because my recording system is so fucked up.

So, I have to do what I can to survive these emotions.

My best technique is to write to 'you', who are either here to enjoy the madness, here to see that I'm ok, or here to relate.

But hey, the crazed cleaning was pretty nice.  I've never had a house so in order.

Judge me and call me crazy if you like.  It's the truth.

I know WHO I am.

I also know I'm married to someone who shares similar mental illnesses.

Having those that are slightly different is what makes it difficult.

I will trust his 'normal drinking' for now.

All he asks, is that I trust him to only want it for hanging loose in the beautiful Caribbean and not for the annihilation of his spirit.

All I ask is that I'm shown he loves me.

I felt that his drinking meant he didn't love me enough, and was trying his best to rid me of his life.

He does love me, and there's no way for me to tell you how he proved it, because you could never understand the connection we have.

As long as I have his love, I can pretty much get through anything.

I will get through this with some trust and a lot of love.

Many people have sent me their angels.

Thank you.

They have been received.

I am out of the Pit of Doom today.

Just because I am loved by mi esposo, I am not crying today.

Just because I am loved by so many friends, I have some peace today.

Just because I begged the angels to get me through this, I am trusting my love.

He had his 'normal drinking' last night and he didn't die.

I will do my best to trust that he can do this.

I know he loves me.

That's all I need to get through this.

For now.

i release any desperation and allow love to find me

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

you get what you ask for

I have to find that magical place of 'letting go'.

Too many friends have let me go and it hurts, but I have to find a way to let them go as well, or Mr. Lumpy will come back with a vengeance in another place of my body.

Poisoning me with black masses.

Rotting me from the inside, to equal the pain that my heart is exuding.

Today we're going to get the biopsy results.  I know it will show nothing, not only because everyone has convinced me it is only a cyst, but because the doctor missed the mark by an inch when he did the biopsy.

No matter.

July 1st we get insurance and if Mr. Lumpy is still kickin' around, which he is right now, we'll be getting a 2nd opinion at the cancer hospital in Santo Domingo.

Anyway, to keep Mr. Lumpy from moving to another part of my body and possibly causing much more trouble than he already has, I need to forgive.

I need to understand that there is no room in my life for the people who have left me, or I won't be making any room fo the new friends I need here.

Yesterday, the man who started out as merely our DoorMan did the BIGGEST favour for us.

He's kinda a big deal here in the business world, with his electricity options, like our inverter, and later on he'll be fixing us up with our solar energy.

He buys a lot of items from the crappy store called PriceSmart we bought our washing machine from.  They wouldn't return it, and everything we've ever brought from them has broken down.

We still haven't done our own laundry.

Anyway, he TOLD them that if they treated us like that, they they would surely treat him like that.  And if that was the case, he'd take his business elsewhere, because he doesn't want to do business with a company that would treat a newcomer to the country as such.

We got our money back and will be buying a machine that works.  HUGE favour.

He invited us to his house for when he has a housewarming with the big mansion he just bought.

He is becoming a friend, because he WANTS to be.

Every friend who has, for whatever reason they need to tell themselves, let me go in Canada, will gain me a new friend here.

I used to do that with my clothes; in with the new, out with 2 of the old.

Now I have to do it with my heart.

Those who I never wronged, yet still, they block me from their virtual life with an obvious, 'do not disturb' sign as they join ranks with the 'mean girls'.

Those who just stopped talking to me because of their beliefs, but never asked me what the real truth was.

Those who jumped on the 'hate the Hector-Browns' bandwagon, because they're now in with the cool kids in the 'community'.

Hey you know what?  If they did it to me, they'll also treat you as such.  You'll get your turn too.  Don't come to me when it happens.

I'll forgive you, but I will not forget how badly I needed you, yet you disappeared at a very dark moment.

I'll forgive you, but I will not allow another opportunity for you to hurt my way too sensitive heart.

I'll forgive you, but I will move on and one day, you'll think of me.

You'll remember that I never did anything wrong, and that I could have been a really good friend to you.

I'll run across your mind that pang of, 'damn I'm sorry' will have to be kept to yourself, because I'll forgive you, but I will not forget.

The DoorMan is making it clear he wants to be our friend.  He's told us not to pay a dime until we are confident that it is working and we have no problems.

No charge until we're happy.

He wants to be our friend.  I'll take him up on that.  So far, he's acted in a more loving way than those who have left me back home.

All I want is love and trust.  It's how I thrive.

Those friends who stuck by me, have been the only reason we're still trudging forward.  There are so many of you that have truly kept me going.

The only thing those who have hurt me are giving me is more depression.

I have to forgive and let go.  I let you go now.

I gain new friends.  I do what's right for me.

I'll ask my angels to help me say, "Goodbye."

forgiveness is a gift you give yourself

digging in the dirt

I'm learning, that the best way for me to snap out of dismal depression, even if it's only for a few minutes, is to spend time with those vibrant living beings that are immovably planted in the ground.

I went for my morning visit to my veggie garden and I couldn't believe it!

I was unrestrainedly thrilled!!

I had TWO heavenly heads of lettuce popping up!

I watered them with love and told them how positively delicious they're going to taste with my great tahini basil salad dressing I invented.

I just HAD to tell the Dominican Daddy, as he is the person who is teaching me how to garden.

I felt the need to show my mother nature mentor what a good job I did and get my acknowledgement of achieving something!

He saw them, gave me the sideways look of, 'oh gringo', then laughed, "These are not lettuce.  They're weeds."

I just about collapsed laughing, with the possibility of joining Psycho Kitty who was trying to be at rest 6 feet beneath my feet, if it weren't for my cackling.

I WAS going to take a picture of them for you.

When I told him that and he laughed even harder.

Then the sweetest thing happened.

Around the corner came Our Favourite, huffing a MASSIVE avocado tree.

He saw that mine were only avocado sticks, and because he has so many avocado trees, he gave me one.

I honestly don't know if he asked his mother first.

You never know with a child, so I'll ask her later.

But now I have 2 avocado sticks and one fat, full avocado tree!

Needless to say, my veggie garden isn't doing so well.

We're going to empty out the current dirt and put in some really good soil from the village and try again.

Digging in the dirt.

Feeling new life.

Seeing the living soil beneath my fingernails.  Forget about the gloves.  I want to feel that clay.

Searching for growth to prove that life still goes on, no matter what happens in our tiny little worlds with our insignificant problems.

Watching the healthy growth that is more than living.  Not letting the growth that threatens our demise to echo.

I feed the fruit trees with water as I touch their strong skin, inviting their strength and energy.

They can't speak, but I know they hear me.

It's much like how I know the angels hear me, even though I don't audibly hear them.

They remind me they are here in silly ways that are too much of a coincidence to not believe it was their answer.

I am at peace with the possibility of a nasty outcome, and last night, Papi and I spoke about how it really could be best case scenario.

It would mean I would just get everything taken care of much faster and there will be no need for a 2nd opinion.

No need for further testing to see if I hold the gene.

No more worry, because those funbags would be history and Mr. Lumpy would have no place left to live.

Or to hide.

Evicted.

So, today, I'll dig.

Further into the ground.

Speaking to my angels, to Psycho Kitty, to the fruit trees and anyone else who cares to listen.

Then I'll clean a little more.

There's something about cleaning that keeps my mind off matters that I don't know the outcome of, as well.

You should see my sparkly kitchen wall and cupboards!

Dirt is my best friend right now.

i give out love and it is returned to me multiplied

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

1st world problems in a 3rd world country

Did'ja miss me?

Or were you relieved my cheeky ass was gone from cyberspace?

Well, love me or hate me, I'm baaaa-aaaack.

We had a NASTY 5 days with no power.

No power means no water.

But more importantly, no internet and no contact with family and my dwindling list of friends that is now down to about the 5 people who care to stay in touch that I am grateful for.

Truly, quality NOT quantity.  The rest of them, well, buh-bye.  My Trust List has almost been abolished.

Each day that passed I became more depressed, thinking that this was it.  We will never have clean dishes or clean bodies again.

My hair looks like a fire hazard.

I'm supposed to look all purrrrrty today for Our Fave's Mom's baby shower.

Oh well.

I can do some kinda up-do-ish thing and give it a wrap to hide the frazzled ends that are, by now, turning into dreadlocks.

There's really no time today to try to wash that bitch out.  I'll need a weed eater to get through the mats.

The cockroaches are having a fucking fiesta with all the dirty dishes.

I managed to get one load cleaned while they thought they had the power going.

Then it was gone again and the rest of the dishes sat as a jungle gym for bugs.

The street power isn't working.  Our generators are not working.  And as soon as dusk hits, this house is blacker than black.

Kinda terrifying actually.

5 days.

We have our lanterns we walk around with, in hopes that we'll see the dog lounging on the floor BEFORE we kick the poor li'l critter.

Our guns are secured in the back of our undies when the night comes.

We're not taking any chances.

The bathroom water still isn't at full bore, but at least I can have a wench's bath; wet sponge, and applied to areas that could offend the general public.

I have layers of dirt on my dirt.

When I clean one layer off, then towel dry, the towel shows me that there is yet another layer that is in need of attention as the dirt rolls into tiny little balls on my skin.

How the hell could I ever be this dirty?!?!?!

I have what looks like permanent stains of dirt on my stomach.

No matter how hard I scrub, it just turns my skin red.

No, the dirt doesn't leave.  I think I need a power washer for that bitch.

Well, I woke to power in the house this morning, and the thrill of all thrills that I was able to talk to 'you'.

I don't know how long this will last.

However, there is one thing that I'm grateful for.

A gas range.

You don't need power to cook.

We also have bottled water, so I was able to drink water while I made sure I took my Prozac, to be sure I didn't have a nervous breakdown.

I also chased it down with a happy little clonazepam pill.

That kept me from climbing the walls and possibly going down to the electricity company and opening fire.

It also had me sleep all the way through workers working, and the Housemaid cleaning all around me.

Here in the Dominican Republic, they have a T-Shirt.

I really need it for when I realize that we're not in Kansas anymore.

It reads, "Remember Where You Are."

It's really hard for an East Van Princess.

Prince Papi seems to be handling it just fine.

Oh, but don't you worry, he will have his time where I'll be picking him up off the floor from something that has him in fetal position.

We take turns.

i have lots of friends