the happy place

I've been working hard.

I haven't been here in your presence.

There have been a few weeks of healing, and The Thug is doing so much better, with the exception of those lumps.  He looks a little on the Quasimodo side with some strange lumps from healing too fast or some strange phenomenon Dr. Bob told Papi and me about.

Our hearts had to heal as well.  It was really hard to edit his footage.

In perfect timing, I've had an opportunity to use playing as a way to feel better through all this.  I've been really enjoying learning new songs for gigs here on the island.

I've taken a temporary detour from translating all the songs I wanted to perform solo in mostly Spanish sets.  I'm working toward 3 potential performances.

It has been glorious to sing and sing and sing and play and sing and play ...

Anyway, I've been practising other songs that are just as difficult for me to memorize as songs in Spanish.

Many moons and moons and stars ago, I was in college in a jazz program.  I'm revisiting this practise of jazz and blues, even though I've been engulfed in pop and rock since the middle of that college program.

There has been a wee obstacle.

My piano.

My machine has been eaten by the salt air that we can sometimes see in the pictures or video we take.

The ocean has already marred my baby.  She's feeling the effects of the salt air, even though I've done my best to keep the doors closed when I play her.

We've only been playing together for, what?  8 months?

She is crying.  An arthritic body.  Some joints hurt, some bones ache, but she doesn't creak, she honks.

Seriously.

Honks.

There are times I won't even get through a song without the offense that I am in combat with.

Not to mention, this week, she has begun giving me the silent treatment.  Utter refusal to sing certain notes.

My finger sinks into the plastic with no emotion.  Dead note.

But only when I ask her to play more than 3 notes.

I've taken my songs down to bones of only 3 notes to adjust to her temperament.

Spacial playing.  Yeah.  I have an angry piano.

I have found someone to give her the attention she's been honking for.

He was very good at speaking slow Spanish to me on the phone.  When Dr. Piano found out where I lived on the island, he commented, "You know there are people closer to you in Puerto Plata and Sosua?"

Well, I have searched for someone who could definitively say, "I know someone who fixes digital pianos."

That 'someone', Dr. Piano, was referred to me by someone who knows gear in the country.  A guy at a recording studio here on the other side of the country.  I trust him.

So when Dr. Piano tried to refer me to someone who may be closer, I explained  "Well, Wanny told me you were the best in the country.  So, I want the best in the country."

Dr. Piano just laughed and we decided I'll be bringing her in on Thursday.

Thankfully, I practised enough before she had to go in for her visit with the doctor.

I still need her home fast.  I can't perform with a honking piano.

And I can't be here with you as much as I'd like to be.

But I do miss being here.

I'm just busy, and it's the best place for me.

self-worth.  that is pleasant.

here we go!

There's a new round of kids coming in to Dream Project.

Tiny, pumped for the challenge, sweet kids.

They're going to audition for the music program this week.  It's so exciting for them, as much as it is for me.

I love teaching little ones from day one.  It's makes me tingle with happiness when I see their eyes light up after they realize they've played their first song.

It's akin to how I'm feeling about playing my first gig in Spanish this week.

It was kinda sprung on me, but Tuesday I get to showcase some of the songs I've been working so hard on.

It's a gastropub called, 'Voodoo Lounge'.  My kinda place.

It's got comfy couches where you can really sink into the cushions to listen to live music.  You just have to try to ignore the mosquitos who have built condos under the cushions just waiting for a ripe ass to bite.

MusicMan and I are going to play a few songs along with another teacher from the Bachata program at Dream Project.

However, the timing is a bit off.  I was going to put music on the back burner for a month, because we're quite busy prepping the house for sale.

Yes, we're selling Casa Paraíso, for so many reasons.

We love this house, but since the day we've moved in, it has been all about the house.

Repairs, workers, commotion.

We were looking to come here to rest from working so hard for 4 years after the motorcycle accident.  Instead, we've spent the entire year focusing on this house.

It's beautiful down here on the ocean, but to every good there is a balance of bad.

Rust.

It's killing everything, including this house, and we just can't afford the upkeep.

Plus, I'll tell you, I will be so relaxed when I'm not dodging the chorus of children screaming my name at the gate all day, every day.

I can't even enjoy my yard, because the children think that once I'm out there, I'm their property.

"Gringa!  Open the gate!"

"No, my friends, the gate is open on Saturdays."

Except today, when I found I woke in the middle of the night to feeling quite under the weather.  I haven't slept properly in days and it's not allowing for a healthy immune system.

So, I put a sign up saying, "No class today, I'm sick.  Sorry."

Which prompted every child to come to the gate screaming my name to try to get me to come out.

I tried to ignore them and went to find some more sleep, when I was awoken by The Carpenter who didn't tell me he wanted to work on Saturday as well.

I need peace.  I need sleep.

I also look forward to not having Housemaid.

I'm not into people in my house every day, and stopping by unannounced.  I'd rather clean on my own.

You see, it's kinda hot here and in order to exercise, I have to do it in the nude as clothes really get in the way when you're sweating so much.

So, I have to always be on the lookout for Housemaid letting herself in our house for whatever reason, whenever she chooses.

Unfortunately, it's not like back home, where people usually call before dropping by.  Most people here can't afford the phone call, so they just show up.

That whole Seinfeld thing where people just drop by and expect you to be decent and available?  I'm not into it.

I remember when I was younger, I wished people would just drop by, because then it meant I was loved.

Now?  If you love me, you'll understand that I require a lot of alone time.

Furthermore, I don't like being caught in the nude.

The constant wave of people in my house is not my kinda thing.

These are just two of the reasons for selling Casa Paraíso.

It's been lovely.

Alas, it's time to move away from the cows and closer to the city.

And now, let the house insanity begin!

i live in peace

out to pasture

The cows are in abundance.

The thug thinks they're a toy to play with.

It's a little upsetting.

I'm sure the cows are going to win that game.

The fridge ticks and tacks.

Apparently it's 'doing it's job'.

We should have had cabinets built around our inverters.  Now they are water logged because of the ocean air being full of salt water.

We are without power a lot of the day, every day, but after a year, we're starting to get used to it.

"Oh, you should have the same cabinets around your inverters as your neighbours, then you wouldn't have to buy new inverters."

So, you couldn't have told us that before we went into the hole for 2 new ones?

Ya know?

But back to the cows.

I sing a lot of songs about cows.

Not that I put any away in that locker of music to record.

It's just cow songs.

Like a musical.

While on the road.

Because we're always on the road.

And there are always cows.

So, what else would there be to sing about?

Or for that matter, write about.

So, it's only natural that when we're walking the dogs, after the first river, we'll find a pasture of cows.

Then, being the tyrant he is, it's only natural for The Thug to go torment them.

Off runs Papi.

"Run faster!" I scream.  I don't want our neighbours putting a bullet in our dogs.

I don't want our dogs hurting the cows.

I can now see all the cows running away from The Thug.

But what's worse, is now The Donkey thinks it's time to play too.

She's about as tall as a calf.

Earlier that day, there were the puppies.

It's possible we'll take one.

We miss Pathetic Puppy so much.

It's nice that we have her reminders.  Like my fancy wedding purse with a very special chew hole, courtesy of the baby girl.

It's like she came in the form of a cyclone, destroyed everything, then went back to her angels.

We have her reminders.

But we'll never have that little one eye.

We may have a new little girl to make our lives crazy for a while.

One can never have enough crazy.

Except for the fact that I feel so heartbroken that so many hearts have left my life.

I can live without THAT crazy.

But then, I guess they were never really friends to begin with.

I will keep moving forward.

i choose love

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

time warp!

Wow!

All of a sudden it's Tuesday.

I kinda fell into a piano pothole.

I'm working on a piece, transcribing it into Spanish: Tori Amos, 'Winter'.

I have been torn as to whether I should just leave it in English, but I think I've figured out my niche for my piano gigs.

I've started transcribing all my songs into Spanish.

It may take me longer and a little more work, but it will help for both languages.

People know a popular song in English, so they'll be able to enjoy the song in their mind in English, but all the folks here will be able to understand the song in Spanish.

So, that's kinda where I've been for the past few days, because this is a HARD one to work with.

Oh, there are a few other things we've been doing in between hiding in my dungeon.

Fixing parts of the car, and helping sick Fuzzy Family.

The car is mobile now, though I have to slide in from the driver's side to get to my seat when Papi is driving.

It's really classy when you're wearing a skirt.

And it's so nice to have people looking at our car and shaking their head, wondering what the hell happened.

Oh, you know, just my drunk husband texting while driving.  No big deal.

Then there's the sick animals.

The Bastard Prince has some strange inflammation from eating some strange plant that's in season right now.

Apparently, it's like catnip for them and they keep going back for more, but the problem is it creates a bladder issue and he hasn't been able to take care of kitty business for 24 hours.

He's spending the night at the hospital.

Also, the Pathetic Puppy is really living up to her name.

We don't know if she got poisoning from raiding the garbage, or has poisoning from a rat.

Dr. Bob is banking on garbage.  He has seen the end results of other things she's gotten into.

She's like a ninja!  Black as the night so you can't see her slipping into the corners and getting into trouble.

She's been lethargic and hiding under the piano while I play.  She just wants to be left alone.

When Dr. Bob drew her blood, there wasn't too much to take.

It's going to take her a few weeks to get back the blood she's lost from her body trying to fight off the poisoning.

We're going to have to really watch this li'l bugger.

She can barely move right now, and within a week she's lost a lot of weight even though she's been eating, albeit, not as much.

Anyway, back to 'Winter'.

I thought that my bitch of a back was not healing as fast because it happens to be 'winter' here in the Dominican Republic, but I realize now that it's because my ankle has hindered me from exercising.

I've gained weight and that hurts my back as well.  Not to mention, my ankle has put me out of alignment.

I started yoga a few days ago, in between practising.

It's been hurting too much to sit and practise for hours at a time, so I had to start stretching in between, which led to getting back to yoga.

All of a sudden, my ankle is healing faster, I'm sleeping through the night without pain in my back, and lo and behold, I've started to take off the weight.

This is going to take a little while.  I put on so much weight, that a skirt that is normally too loose is too tight to wear.

No problem.  While I work on my piano sets, I'll keep exercising.

It's all coming together.

Now, if we can just get some healthy animals and stay away from Dr. Bob, I might have more time to work on these sets.

I've got 2 weeks to get some serious work done before I go back to Dream Project.

So, no wonder I lost a few days there.

I am a 'tad' busy.

i exercise because it makes me feel good 

fairy

I am pretty sure my fairy godmother visited last night.

OK.

Maybe it was a firefly.

OH WAIT!

Maybe it was Tinkerbell!!!!

Well, I'm going to just go with my fairy godmother.

Yesterday, while feeling like my world was imploding, I thought perhaps my angels had left me again.

There is a saying, about how they don't leave, but we are the ones to do the walking.

It it so empty when I don't feel their energy around me.

But just as I was thinking this, Eternal Friend dropped me a text and I was immediately drawn into her positivity.

She's not the fairy godmother.

It was a little flicker in my room last night.

It gave me good vibes.

Then I woke up lighter, feeling like my angels were here.

So it couldn't have just been a firefly, could it?

It's the first one I've ever seen.

Seriously, I've never seen a firefly, so how am i supposed to know if it was actually a firefly or my fairy godmother?

It was dark, I was reading The Hunchback of Notre Dame on a tablet, because you can't get English books here.  And it was free.

No lights were on, so there's no telling what it really was.

All I know is I felt a hell of a lot better today.

I felt the angels again.

I believe in that thought, that it's we that do the leaving.

Dogs never have that problem.

They just cruise through life with their angels no matter how hard life is for them.

They always have their crew with them.

Perhaps, it also felt good that we have a motorcycle ride yesterday.

Not just a motorcycle ride, but a ride without helmets.

I don't condone riding without helmets.

My helmet DID save my life in the motorcycle accident.

I was wondering if maybe, perhaps, I've just said 'fuck it'.

Death wish?

Or am I just enjoying the freedom?

I'm not sure, but I do know it felt good to be on a bike and not be afraid.

Today was a little more scary, as we rode through one of the most hairy parts of our highway.

None-the-less, it was beautiful.

Maybe the beauty helped me regain my angels.

Beauty.

Happiness.

All I know, is I feel like my heart is lifted.

I always bet back up.

And tomorrow, I get to see the kids for our music.

I have their sweetness to rely upon for good energy.

I also have my fairy godmother.

Bright light.

Shine.

i deserve sublime happiness

the calm is coming ...

Do you get hay fever?

I had hay fever every Spring for years.

Then, one day, it seemed to calm down.

Well, here we are in another part of the world and the equivalent of Spring is now.

In Autumn.

And the pollen is different.

I'm sneezing so much, that sometimes, I have to fight to catch my breath.

I thought that the ocean spray ruined all our flowers, but we had flowers start coming in when the really bad heat wave finally subsided.

Flowers are in bloom and so is my nose.

Full, red and shiny.

Looking around at the beautiful land flourishing here, I realize that I really like the country.

I love the chickens, cows, goats, horses, donkeys, and the abundance of dogs.

Oh then there's the great big pig that I had to wait to cross the road yesterday so that I could drive out of the little road of our village.

They were herding him with a branch.

He was not impressed.

Eventually he walked past me with his snout raised high, smelling the scent of my dogs on my car tires.

I love living in the country.

It's beautiful.

The air is clean.

Well, with the exception of too many cows in one lot of land.  Then it's a bit funky.

But they still bring a great smile to my face.

I did grow up in Vancouver, when Vancouver had the spacial feel of the country.

Until the 80's when things boomed.

Then we lost the Vancouver I loved.

At first, I thought it would be good for this country's people if it had that kind of financial boom, but I don't any more.

It's lovely the way it is.

Cows and all.

Space between neighbours, so that I can play my piano, croon and not worry about anyone hearing me.

When I was in Vancouver, I was always so worried about people hearing my voice, judging me and saying I suck and banging on the wall to tell me to shut the fuck up.

Rats in a cage.

Here?

I can sing as loud as I want and even Papi can't hear me when he's upstairs.

Bliss.

Play.

Sing.

Freedom.

I realized today, while speaking to Jersey Girl, that the battle Papi and I have fought for quite some time to be here, is coming to an end.

We're worse for wear, me the Limping Lesbian and Papi with his new concussion he's donning.

Oh, I didn't tell you about that, did I?

'Someone' took the drinking experiment a tad too far, fell, hit his head and has been recovering from a concussion for the past week.

I guess we all have our experiments.

Anyway, only now, after 10 months, finally making friends, and playing my music to my heart's desire, am I finally seeing that this is the romantic part of the life I wanted.

It's coming.

We're almost out of battle.

We have the trophy of scars.

i am redefining what is important to me

choices, choices

Drummer Boy once told me, "That will make a great song."

He would enjoy a new song that I would write and say, "I knew a good song would come from that shitty experience."

There's always music from tragedy, stress, heartache, ad finitum.

I've been working on so much music and I am half way through my goal of 3 sets of covers.

As I'm playing, I hear the beginnings of new songs.

Only problem is, if I go hog wild and start writing my own music, I'll delay the current goal I'm working toward.

I'm bad enough when I'm learning someone else's music, I get a level of obsession getting inside what they've written.

But when I'm writing my own music?

It's a whole other level.

But, as I'm practising covers for work, I hear my songs coming out.

It's like they're brewing at that spot before the kettle boils.

You hear it's ready to blow, but you want to catch it before the scream offends your air space.

It feels like that.

I just want to jump into writing my own lyrics IN ENGLISH because my biggest obstacle is memorizing the Spanish lyrics.

I feel like my brain is on TurboLearn.

All the damage that happened from the accident is being rewired in the most beautiful, amazing ways.

Learning Spanish through music is probably the very best decision I've made for re-wiring my brain, and helping me on the road to speaking fluently.

I fall in love with the melody, then because I love the song so much, I actually remember the lyrics.

Then, I am able to speak to people with the words I have learned from music much faster, because they have meaning.

More like speaking.

Anyway, it was an accidental good decision.

Bad decisions?

Oh man, how do I even begin here?

How about eating comfort foods while I was healing from the ankle.

No exercise, and comfort foods.

So, I went to the last appointment at the hospital and the guy that pushes us around on the wheelchairs said, "You are fat now," well, I got a tad freaky deaky.

Everyone tried to say he was a joking, but I've noticed people go on about weight here.  No beating around the bush.

Not to mention, I went shopping at the cheap clothes market that I could wear for work clothes, and I would normally be able to hold up a dress and think it fits, so I bought a few.

No, I didn't fit those clothes.

I paraded them in front of Papi, mocking my utter muffin top that has invaded my mid section over the past 5 months and damn, I have some work to do.

I just kicked into high gear of trying to take care of this 'situation'.

I won't go into that.  My eating disorder can take up a whole month of blogging.

But eating really bad foods for 10 months,  5 of those months I've spent on my ass, eating the most fattening possible foods I could to get me through the mania, was not the best of decisions.

I'm going to try chair cardio tomorrow.

If I can tear my ass off the piano bench, that is.

We'll see.

I have a lot of work to do, and I have a ton of music simmering before the kettle blows.

I don't want to lose all my steam to a rolling boil.

I certainly don't want to break the piano bench either.

i am motivated by both successes and failures

nice try

So, there I was, trying my first day of actual meditation.

I've been told that it's something I need to do for a long time.

I do find a place in music that is akin to meditation.

It really is the only time that nothing else enters my mind, other than the song I'm working on.

Maybe that's why it makes me so happy and peaceful when I play.

It's actually meditation!

But still, I had a friend give me some pointers on what I can do to start my journey into this new world.

So.  I sat outside on the table.

Yes, the table.

It's pointless to sit in chairs, because we happen to have massive oafs who will stop at nothing to be lap dogs.

The entire 6-Pack at one time.

Now, maybe someone who's been meditating for a long time can still do so with a Donkey, a Thug and others perched on their laps, wrestling for their attention.

But this is not a task for someone who's new at this gig.

So, I sat on the table.

Those waves, that happened to make me feel like I was listening to white noise while I was healing from the ankle, were going to be my focus.

In ...

Out ...

In ...

Out ...

Be sure not to pass out!

You see, I kinda have troubles with lightheadedness when I breathe too deeply.

Anyway, there was a moment that I started to only hear the waves!

Then it happened.

The MOMENT I got into the calming of the waves, there was Mr. Extortion outside the gate.

Waving, "Hola!!" with a sneaky, sly smile that tried to say he's a friend.

Sweet mother of baby Jesús, what the fuck do you want?!?!  I'm trying to fucking meditate here!!

Off I limped to hear his speech, "This is not sufficient for the waves.  You need big rocks."

Yes, the ocean gets VERY high in the winter, but we can't really afford the rocks right now, and decided we'd do a temp job with concrete bags.

But really it had nothing to do with his 'concern'.  Really he was saying, "We'd like more money from you, so if you could get those rocks, we could extort from you, if you don't mind."

I simply looked at him with a less than sweet gringa pan face, telling him this was temporary until we could afford the rocks.

He continued to go on about it, so I made it simple by turning into a broken record.  "We have no money."

More he went on about the rocks, thinking we're rich like our big house neighbours, as I repeated, "We have no money."

Then the little bugger was going to delve into an old extortion tactic of trying to get money out of us for the garbage pick-up by asking who takes care of it.

I now looked at him with Pissy Face and reminded him that we already told him that the gardener takes care of it and, "We have no money."

No, sir, you are not going to pull that one on us.

We've been here for 10 months.  We're hip to your game.

I was ready to lose the last ounce of spirituality I was trying to grasp with meditation and give this guy a piece of my mind.

Instead, I excused myself, leaving him standing at the gate, limping a little more excessively than I needed to to let him know that he REALLY disturbed my peace.

Papi says this was a test to see how well I could take on the task of meditation.

I'd say I didn't do so well.

I went back and hid in the house, playing my piano.

Nobody can see me when I'm in there, and I can pretend I don't hear people screaming my name at our gate.

I might try meditating again.

Or maybe I'll just stick to playing for hours on end.

i focus on the present

your choice

I take every opportunity I can to practise my piano technique.

My left hand is not like it was before the motorcycle accident.

It's slow.

It's confused.

It's like it just won't communicate with me.

There's some kind of divide between my left hand and my injured brain.

So, while I'm waiting for class to start, I quietly, secretly, practise my technique.

Nobody want to hear that.

Right?

Well, except for the children.

It's all cool to them.

They like to watch my fingers move across the keyboard in tandem.

They try to emulate me in the upper register, mockingly playing notes at random, hands flying off the piano just like Liberace.

Then one little boy was alone with me.

He's our drummer.

The only drummer.

When there's a performance, he's the man.

He plays with every group, perfecting his chops.

He's pretty enthralled by the piano and I'm pretty mesmerized at his almost perfect timing on the drums at such a young age.

Still, we all want more.

He asked me if I could teach him, 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star'.

Only, in he asked me in Spanish.

I had no idea what he was talking about, so he sang the song and I instantly lit up.

"Of course I can teach you this song!"

He placed his miniature hands on the piano and I started to really look at this child.

He has scars on his face, and I can only imagine it's from a rock throwing incident, or 10.

The children love to throw rocks in anger here.

Then looking at the skin on his arms, I noticed more.

His perfect little body was marred with many tiny scars, removing the beautiful dark sheen from his skin that from a distance, seems utterly perfect.

It reminded me of The Thug.

So many scars with so many memories.

But there was one scar I just couldn't keep my eyes off.

Intentional.

On his right hand.

The letter 'B' carved in, never to leave his existence.

5 lines in a fierce formation to create the letter that his name begins with.

I tried to take notice to see if possibly he's left handed, and branding could have been done by himself.

It's possible.

He started by playing the piano with his left hand, so instinct may have said that's the dominant.

But still.

I couldn't imagine this child etching his skin so deep that he has a forever reminder of the first letter in his name.

Such a sweet soul.

But we all have scars, don't we?

His demeanor speaks of so much happiness, but all the children here do.

Including the little tyke in the village who can barely speak, yet he's been taught how to ask for 5 pesos.

Happy child.

He makes me smile when I see his eyes light up upon seeing me.

No matter what, we all have the ability to be happy with our lives.

It's our choice.

i consciously choose love above all else

move that body!

Don't know what got me.

Since last Tuesday, I've been rather sick.

Enough so, that I've seen a slight decline in the weight I put on after the 3 months of lying around like a bloated manatee from the whole ankle 'thing'.

Virus?  Food from a foreign country?  Parasite from the water?

The sick part of my brain, that good old Anorexia Monster, is telling me this is great, because I'll get back to feeling my normal weight!

But the healthy person in me would rather eat better and exercise to take it off the right way.

However, up until yesterday, every time I tried to move was an immediate invitation to run as quickly as possible to the bathroom.

My phone has been glued to my hands.  You don't want to be stuck in there for half an hour with no puzzles to play.  Ya know?

Yesterday, I just stared out at our beautiful yard we are fortunate to have and fell into an anxiety attack like I haven't had in a long time.

Looking outside.  Stuck near the washroom.  Feeling so weak.

Frozen, because the anxiety had immobilized me.

Like I said before, I am NOT good at staying dormant.

Today I feel a little more strength.

I feasted on an entire bag of Dorito's throughout the day yesterday, minus the scant amount I shared with Papi.

That and all the lime juice I could drink.

For the tail end of the ankle 'thing', I watched to the end of Breaking Bad.

For this stomach 'thing' that got me, I've started on The Walking Dead.

Never really been a fan of zombies, because they don't scare me.

It's reality that scares me.

Yet, everyone seems to like the show, so I thought I'd give it a whirl.  Love it!

Anyway.

I go back to Dream Project tomorrow.  In the next 2 weeks we'll be driving the children full speed toward a performance at the DR Jazz Festival.

They're pumped!

I'll just fill myself with plenty more Pepto to make it through my 4 hours of teaching.

MusicMan told me that he'd be asking the BigWigs for my gas allowance.

I was so grateful that he said that on his own accord.

I wasn't going to ask anymore, but he brought it up, so I feel a little like he really is happy with me being there helping with the kids.

He got a real kick out of me telling him the story about how I thought he no longer had a job there.

Funny enough that he decided to tell more people the silly story.

Oh, how I make a name for myself everywhere I go.

Now I'll be the silly gringa at the school.

Which is OK.  I know who I am.

I've really have nothing more to prove to anyone.

I'm just spinny Andréa, and it makes me a much more approachable person when people know that, and we all know I just want to be loved.

I remember being the Andréa that had a permanent cloud of doom hanging over my head.

I'm just grateful I can laugh at myself and not take myself too seriously anymore.

I have meds to thank for that.

I'm looking out at the ocean today.

I'm sitting at the table, instead of the La-Z-Boy, my favourite tool of the Pit of Doom.

My ankle doesn't hurt from sitting in an upright chair anymore.

The ocean doesn't sound like white noise when you're actually watching the white caps crash against the shore.

It's beautiful.

I am strong enough to walk to that ocean now.

Perhaps today I'll allow the feeling of that gorgeous salt water to wash me clean of these past 3 months of stagnancy.

Move.

With the waves.

Ebb and flow.

i am willing to change my eating habits and i do so easily

lost in translation

Jeeeeeeeeezus.

I think my life's mission is to embarrass myself as much as possible.

So, yesterday, I thought there would be no program for the children at the school.

Yeah.

I'm really not good at understanding Spanish.

I speak it much better than I hear it.

It could be that MusicMan tries to dumb down the language, to make it easier for me, but I still had troubles yesterday.

I don't know what it is.

I just don't understand the language.

I can communicate very well on my own part, so people think that I am able to understand the words.

But I need people to speak

EACH

WORD

SEPARATE

to understand what the hell they're saying.

Or else I run into troubles.

Like yesterday.

So, I show up and I'm worried that MusicMan wouldn't have a job to feed his baby.

No.

Everything was fine.

Turns out he has the other job right now, as stage manager for the DR Jazz Festival.

He was trying to explain to me that he wasn't going to be at the school, because he has another job.

What I got out of it was that he needed to be at another job.

As in, there is no job at Dream Project and the reason I had to wait to hear back from him was because he didn't know if I would need to be there if he wasn't.

I'm a fucking nutburger.

I embarrass myself on a regular basis.

But today, when I explain to him how embarrassed I am, I better get down the word for 'embarrassed', because it sounds an awful lot like pregnant and he'll be congratulating me.

Papi and I have been here 10 months.

When will I start to understand what everyone is saying?!?!?!?!

One poor little soul yesterday came in to class and I had just been practising for an hour doing scales, arpeggios and broken chords, so my mind was really elsewhere in piano land.

She sat down and I rattled off in English what we'd be working on today.

She looked at me with big eyes and asked if I could say it in Spanish.

It was pretty funny and we had a good laugh.

Then at the pharmacy, the woman kept asking me for 50 pesos, only, I kept hearing 500.

I tried every combination I could to give her the 500 thinking she wanted certain denominations for change for her register.

Finally, she stopped me by looking me in the eye, touching my hand, and taking a 100 peso bill and proceeded to give me change.

"Ahhhhhhhhh.  50 pesos!"

I finally got it.

Seriously.

When do I get better at this?

Good thing they don't have a 'Tea Party' here in the Dominican Republic.

They'd have my ass on the next plane out of the country.

People are much more patient with expats here.

i have the ability to persevere 

their loss.

Oh dear.

I asked MusicMan if he wanted to practise our beginnings of a set list and got word back from him that there may no longer be a role for him as music director at Dream Project.

I'm waiting to hear from him as to whether or not I'll be teaching today.

Maybe the school is feeling the pinch of no money like the rest of the world.

I suppose that's the reason they couldn't afford to pay my gas to get there.

That just makes me feel selfish for asking for the pittance of travel allowance.

They need MusicMan for those kids.

Those kids need music.

To a lot of people, music is one of the first extracurriculars to go.

But people have that all wrong.

Music is so important in this world.

Yeah.

So is math, although the majority of people don't use half of what they learn post secondary.

Grammar is definitely important.

I'd like to start a 'down-south' school for members and followers of the tea party, but for now I'll leave that up to Teabonics to spread the word of their lack of the English language.

Makes me giggle when they tell immigrants to speak English.  Perhaps they could take classes along with them?

Anyway.

Music is so important.

It actually helps your brain process other tasks.

It is another language.

A universal language.

MusicMan and I don't have the best communication because we both lack the knowledge of each others language.

However, when we play music together, it doesn't matter.

When I sing Spanish songs to the loitering kids waiting for their class at the school, they sing with me, even if I don't clearly understand every sentence in the music.

Yet.

We have magical, intuitive communication through the heart.

I sing with grown men who have a moment of innocent tenderness when I hear their angelic voices sing every word to a ballad normally sung by a woman.

Beauty.

Soul.

I really hope they are not going to lose MusicMan.

Those children need him to guide them through every performance.

Right now, they need me to teach piano to the girls.

Maybe if they lose out on him, we'll start our own non-profit school together.

Lord knows we're not out to make money.  We need enough to feed our family, and the rest is payment of the happiness brought by working with children spreading the joy of music.

I already have the meagre beginnings of a school.

Papi says I must enjoy it, because there's nothing else that would get me out of bed at 6:45 a.m. on a Saturday.

The Garage Band is getting better at their beats, with the exception of one poor soul who doesn't seem to play nice with others.

I guess you could say he dances to the beat of his own drum.

But that doesn't matter.

What matters is that he shows up every week, sings and smiles along with us while we struggle through learning the ins and outs of music.

It's not just an extracurricular activity.

It is what feeds the heart.

That is mandatory.

every one of us deserves greatness

rust and white noise

Did'ja miss me?

We had intermittent power for 3 days, hence, I haven't showered for 3 days.

The pool is a slimy mess, but that was my makeshift bath yesterday.

I'm pretty sure me going in there and bathing is the majority of the dirt they're vacuuming out of the pool right now.

Plumber Friend is teaching Dominican Daddy how to clean the pool again.  He needed a refresher course.

Papi resisted having anyone else clean it, because he's as O.C.D. about his pool as I am about my dishes.

I would rather have my dishes pile to the ceiling, waiting for me to wash them, than have Housemaid clean them.

I can do without the chunks of food left on the plates when she 'cleans' them.  I'm pretty sure it's because Housemaid needs glasses.  That's just not something people can normally afford here.

But as for the pool, Papi has given in and allowed Dominican Daddy to have the lessons and be the cleaner.  Besides, Papi is honestly dying from heat.  He could barely move when we had the heat wave last month.

Not to mention, Dominican Daddy will need to know how to clean it when we move, because the next people won't know how to deal with it.

If they're anything like us, this will be their first home and they'll have this dream about living on the ocean, just like we did.

We don't ever want to live on the ocean again.

When we move, I'll have to buy all new instruments and computers.

Even my clothes are disintegrating from the air here.

Seriously!  My sarongs are falling to pieces.

When we first heard the ocean non-stop, it was pleasing.

However, there comes a point when you'd like to just have a word with mother nature and say, "Would you mind turning off the white noise?  It's kinda making me crazy.  Thanks."

It was so beautiful when I first heard it.

I remember opening my door that first day.  I thought the sound was wind pounding against the house in a 'welcome to the DR' storm, but it was just the waves I was hearing.

I enjoyed every morning doing yoga to the sound of the waves crashing.  Papi enjoyed lying in the pool at night listening to the ebb and flow of the ocean.

Here we are, 10 months later, and that sound has become similar to living on a busy street in the city.

You know how you hear continuous cars, honking, sirens, people talking really loud, and all you want is just to have quiet time?

Oh, you get quiet time in the middle of the night.  There is a silence from the drone of the city for a brief moment if you're up that late, or early depending on how you look at it.

But waves?  They never stop.  Ever.  White noise.

They've become white noise!

So, our stint on the ocean has become our temporary home.

In about 5 years, we'll probably move up into the mountains, where the rust won't find us on its daily regimen.

Not to mention, this house is old.

Living without electricity, leaving us with no shower for days on end is really frustrating this femme who is used to being pristine and fancy.

Now I'm stinky and dirty with holes in my clothes.

I lost it the 2nd night of no power and took my anger out on Papi.

There just comes a point where you want the niceties of a developed country.

I just wish the cold of Canada didn't hurt so much.  We would have never left if I could handle it.

Yesterday, when Plumber Friend got our power back on, I took the opportunity to play my piano for an hour without any back pain.  That's the whole reason for being here.  The ability to really live.

For Papi, it's the ability to really relax after so much hard work in his life.

It's fitting that the day we lost our power was our 1 year anniversary of buying this house, and beginning the journey of moving to this beautiful country full of lovely people.

I love it here.  I don't ever want to move back to the chill of Canada.

This is home.

Rust and white noise included.

i am led by my dreams

lord help me.

Yay!

The internet is back on!

But now I can't remember what I was going to write about.

I had my thoughts all ready for an entire blog-o-rama monologue for you.

No idea now.

The other day, I was watching Jon Stewart and his guest was writer David Mitchell, who helped facilitate someone with autism write about what it's like to live with the disability.

He can't hold a conversation with someone, but he can communicate by typing quite well.

I immediately was reminded of my ICBC case when the lawyer said, "You so eloquently write in your blog every day.  You're trying to say that you have brain injury?"

It's so hard for people to understand my lack of memory.

Just a few days ago, Papi spoke about his drivers licence that he had renewed in Vancouver.

I said, "It came that fast?!?"

He sighed and replied, "Yes, and you've said the same thing twice now.  That it came so fast."

All I can do is giggle and accept that this is my brain now.

Now, I'll remember, and then move on to something else that I have no idea I asked about prior.

Or said prior.

Or did prior.

It's a crap shoot as to what I'll actually remember.

I have selective memory, only I don't get to choose what it is I remember.

Get stressed or over-tired?  I lose even more.

Yesterday's Spanish lesson was a gong show.  I couldn't even remember words I'd learned in Canada 4 months before we came here.

But I remember them today.

Papi thinks I use it a lot to my advantage.

That I just say I don't remember things.

Then I get stressed out about him saying that and I forget even more.

"How can you forget something so important?!?!?" I hear on a frequent basis.

Selective memory loss.

I feel like a bouncy orb in a pinball machine.

I just bounce from thought to thought, yet here, in my blog, I am able to stay focused on the topic most of the time.

At times, I fall off topic and start another one, realizing I've digressed after reading what I was already writing about and get back on track.

Yes.  I can write much better than I can remember, and generally, it takes me a good hour to write this short page, because as I read back what I've written, it triggers memories of other points I wanted to say.

But dammit if I can remember what I was going to write about.  Maybe the fact that my body is turning into a great whale from lying around all day?

I can't even tell you what I see in the mirror every day, and today we have to go meet with a bunch of expats for a DR1 Forum meet up.

I feel like crap.

I don't want to go meet people looking so horrible.  Then there's the fear of seeing the creep again.

My hair?  Maybe I was going to write about how my hair looks like a fire hazard on my head, or that I have found a hair dresser and now I just have to get the funds to pay for that cut.

Or maybe that I'm losing my mind because I'm not playing music?

Who knows what the hell I was going to write about.

All I know is, I wrote a blog today.

Good enough for me.

Oh fuck.  I just remembered and now I finished the blog.

OK.

I'll make a draft to write about the guy who attacked the tourist outside on our beach, tomorrow.

Fucking hell.

i have non-stop daily determination to reach my healthy weight

i can see clearly now

I ebb and flow.

Today, I love my life.

Maybe it's because the nerve pills the doc gave me are working and I'm not in as much pain?

Maybe it's because I'm abiding by his 'rules' and resting more?

Maybe it's because the Prozac has really kicked in and the fog has lifted, allowing me to see the good in my life.

Apparently, to some, all I do is sound miserable lately.

It's possible that for the past few months I've been 'a tad' on the negative side.

OK.  Yes.  It's true.

But that's OK, isn't it?

I'm human, and I can't always be happy.

Wasn't it OK to fall a few years ago when I couldn't pull myself out of the Pit of Doom because my love went through a sex change?

I figured out something last night.

Change is hard for me.

Change of a new country.

Change of having finally been an ambulatory person, forced back into a hobbling, crutching, Limping Lesbian for 2 months.  Not to mention, a country that refuses to administer pain relief.

Change of losing friends who have resentment about us moving somewhere were I wouldn't have pain and Papi could finally heal from his emotional wounds that nobody has ever really seen.

Yeah.  I've been miserable.

Chronic pain and loss do that to me.

And just to be clear, yes, losing friends has hurt me.

You who have abandoned me have achieved what you set out to do.

You win!  You hurt me.

I'm sorry I had to move for my well being.  And I'm also sorry I am the type of person who will hold that resentment for a long time.

I feel the need to say fuck you for dumping me for bettering my life.

You who have stuck around to listen to me whine?

You are angels!  You are true friends and I only wish I could move you all here to be with me.

Want to come live in a Casita?  It's real cute!

I'll make you eggs and toast every day and you can have unlimited coconut water.

Anyway, eventually, I'll find friends here that mean a lot to me.

After I speak Spanish better, maybe?

Or perhaps when I find people, who are good to others, who speak English?

They're few and far between here, I'll tell you.

But hey, my bitch of a back doesn't hurt as much.  That was the whole point, no?

Yet, now I feel sad because things are not as we thought they'd be.

I'm here so that I could be out of pain and do music.

However, music has been scarce.

This life is not what we thought it would be.

Still, today, I feel the tide has changed.

The rain is gone because the anti-depressants are doing their job, and I have a gorgeous view in my life once more.

Just because you live in paradise, doesn't mean you're in heaven.

At least there are still angels.

i love and approve of myself

think about it

The janitor gets paid.

There is also a man who is there strictly to open and close the gate for the children, to keep things in order.

He gets paid.

I've been studying music since I was 3.

I've gone to music college.

I've taken exams out the wazoo with the Royal Conservatory of Music.

I've ran my own music school for 13 years, that was so successful, I had a waiting list.

But I ask for gas money to get to Dream Project to TEACH FOR FREE and they have to think about it?

I'm confused.

I'm pissed off.

I'm insulted.

When those children are up on the stage performing their piece, who do they think taught the piano players?

I need work, and if I have to leave to get paid, then I have to leave.

Then those 6 girls I teach will no longer have a piano teacher.

There will no longer be a piano aspect to the performance.

It will be all boys playing guitar and bass, with one drummer.

How do I not have worth to them?

Isn't their mandate that they believe all children in the Dominican Republic deserve education and mentorship?

In July, when I came face to face with management, she asked me how it was going.

I told her how much I enjoyed the children and how I appreciate their gratitude and eagerness.

I told her how it's awesome to be able to learn Spanish through the kids.

I told her how happy it makes me.

Her response?

"Good.  Then that's your payment.  Because we're not paying you."

Nice.

That was the point where I knew my request when I first started was all a lie to get me to teach free for the summer.

If it was any other job, I would have been gone that day, but I'm there because I genuinely adore the children and their great efforts they put into learning piano.

I've been driving there and teaching for free since May.

I need income, and asked the MusicMan to request gas money for my travel costs, stating, "I'll teach for free, but I live a half hour away, so it's expensive to drive here."

He told me he contacted them, and their reply?  They have to 'think about it'.

Meanwhile, they pay every other employee they have there, or I know they would be looking for work elsewhere.

I have one of the most rewarding jobs there.  It's the only reason I stay and volunteer my time.

Still, how can someone not see my worth?

How?

Not the janitor, nor the gate keeper, nor the women answering phones could teach these children piano, but they all get paid for their jobs.

They have to 'think about it'.

Gas money.

I'm not even worth gas money for them.

I am so hurt.

Looks like I'll be looking for a job and I'll have to leave the little darlings.

Papi doesn't really want me teaching there either, but it's so hard to think of leaving them.

They will be devastated not to have lessons.

They love them so much.

I'm so sad.

i am deserving of abundance

Gratitude 10/10
1. I am grateful I know my worth.
2. I am grateful for cool breezes.
3. I am grateful for ice to ease my pain.
4. I am grateful The Thug didn't kill The Bastard Prince last night.
5. I am grateful I found the pin for my crutches.
6. I am grateful for music.
7. I am grateful for an impromptu sing-a-long with people yesterday.
8. I am grateful for my talent.
9. I am grateful I have an income for 2 more months.
10. I am grateful for people who appreciate me.

get back up

No, I have not handled this ankle thing very well.

My cast is off.

I'm still hurting a lot, but at least I have 2 feet on the ground to assist my balance.

And let me tell you, that shower I had yesterday was almost orgasmic.

However, washing my hair took almost an hour.

I had a mat in the back that looked like I'd been living homeless for a year.

I am not at liberty to complain about anything, anymore.

People think I'm ridiculous.

Papi thinks I'm pathetic.

I am so hurt that he holds resentment about having to take care of me for 4 years after the motorcycle accident.

There aren't a lot of times I wish I had just died in that crash.

But this is one.

To know that Papi has held in so much all those years of taking care of me is too much to handle.

I hear about it a lot now that I'm capable of doing more.

I hope I never have a problem again that I need help for.

I'll have guilt upon guilt if I do.

I am going to teach today.

It will make me happy to see some sweet, smiling faces.

I have a friend who is in the Pit of Doom.

I have the feeling I've taken on some of her negativity.

I need to find my positivity again.

I saw a quote this week, "Don't let others pull you into their darkness.  Pull them into your light."

But what happens when my light has been dimmed?

How do I pull myself back out again when the one person I'm in contact with on a daily basis is fading and the love of my life is angry for having to come home to a cripple again?

I'm pretty low right now.

I guess I know how I got here.

Frustration, pain and hearing someone I care for want to die every day.

I guess I'll have to step up my gratitude again.

One in the morning, one at night.

If you're feeling low too, maybe you want to join me.

So, I will have to go prep for teaching now.

Smiling faces.

Happiness.

Love.

And most of all, no name calling.

Just music.

And now that I don't have that ridiculous chunk of plastic on my leg anymore, I can sit at the piano with less pain.

That will help lift me as well.

I'll hide in my place of music.

I'll ignore the fact that I know how much my love is upset with me.

I'll do whatever it takes to get out of feeling like this.

I'll also do whatever it takes not to have Papi think I'm pathetic.

i choose to let others opinions of me be their responsibility

Gratitude Day 1/10
1. I am grateful I can take baby steps.
2. I am grateful the cast is off.
3. I am grateful I have someone to clean the floors.
4. I am grateful for the children I teach.
5. I am grateful for music.
6. I am grateful I didn't spend a day in bed for 2 days.
7. I am grateful I know how to get out of depression.
8. I am grateful I work hard to get out of depression.
9. I am grateful I can shower.
10. I am grateful there is rain today. 

switch.

sunday sillies ...

I have sleep anxiety.

If I know I HAVE to get up early, I just can't sleep.

Here, people get up with the sun.

Easily 6 a.m.

I remember asking the teens, "Are you up to make it to a class by 8 a.m.?"

They laughed at me.

It's not like the teens in Canada.

Teens in Canada will sleep until their mother finally drags them out of bed.

Or at least, that was me, and a handful of friends who can relate.

Not here.

They're up early and working.

Not me.

I try desperately to keep up with the schedules here.

Everyone is so bright eyed, and then there's me.

Don't talk to me until the coffee has done it's job.

But even on my Saturday to teach, I still find that coffee isn't enough because I'm so tired from not sleeping well the night before.

I'm not sure if you noticed a pattern, but there is very rarely a blog on Saturday.

I scramble to get up and out to The Garage Band for the first class of teens.

Then when I'm finished the last class of 7-12 year olds, I'm done and needing a nap.

So I nap.

I just need so much sleep on Saturday.

Anyway, this week, the regular group of teens didn't show up.

There were only 2 kids, who are not teens, but sing with the teens because they're friends with them.

Second group?

One child.

Third group?

One child.

Granted, it was nice to have private lessons that day.

The last child, she's something amazing.

She is absolutely brilliant and gets music quickly.

I'm teaching them some English words.

It was a riot!

I told them, "I sound funny speaking Spanish, so now you sound funny speaking English."

They got a kick out of it.

The hardest word for them was 'sleeps'.

Here, they really don't pronounce very much of the letter 's' in a word.

They drop that letter.

Making it even harder for me to understand anything.

Trying to get them to put an 'l' after an 's' was really hard.

They'll get it though.

And eventually, I'll be able to roll my 'r' properly.

Right now, I just do it at the back of my throat like I'm a growling dog.

I'll get it.

They'll get it.

And we'll help each other.

my pace is perfect

what to do?

All I want to do is sleep.

Pain meds will do that to you.

However, Housemaid has other plans for me.

After it took ALL DAY just to get downstairs, make breakfast, pay a bill and buy more pain meds, I told her, "I think I'm staying bed for a few days."

My intention was that I would just stay in bed until Papi came home.

She was shocked and said, "No!  Andréa!  My friend invited us to a party!  You HAVE to go!"

I'm not too good at these crutches.

My balance is bad enough with 2 legs.

I've tried to shower, but having that one leg out of the shower doesn't make for a completely clean body.

I feel like a sticky mess, and now I'm supposed to look pretty for a party?

Plus, I'm sweating so much from working these aluminum gizmos.

At least I got a lot of Spanish studying accomplished over the last few days.

I really was meant to slow down.

When I'm better though, I need to work hard.

We just figured out how much we owe for all the bills we incurred from Casa Paraíso, and damn, it's NOT good.

We're going to be living QUITE frugally for quite a while.

No problem.

Prince Papi will have a crash course in how it was for me for all those years when I lived EastSide.

I had MANY years of practise, and here, it's just part of life.

Most people live dangerously on the edge, yet still have enough money for beer.

I can get a sugary treat for 10 pesos when I'm jonesin' for it.

Or make a chocolate bar last 6 days by only having one chunk a day.

Then Papi told me that the wife of the creep has begged me to come back to teaching.

Part of me wants to go under the conditions that he's not there.

However, no money in the world can make up for the possibility that something could happen with this guy.

Yeah, I need the money, but is there a chance that I could get raped for teaching?

Or suffer more disgusting comments that he somehow thinks are appropriate?

Wife says he would never hurt anyone.  Of course she says that.

All I know is, I responded to the wife and explained that I would not be in a safe environment, but she asked if I could teach her child in a different house.  Like maybe a neighbour's house.

What if the creep sees me?

Do I continue, because I need the money, and trust that he will leave me alone if he sees me?

Or do I continue on, looking for other students, eating less chocolate?

Would I be doing the wrong thing by going against my word of keeping myself safe?

Or would I be empowering myself by attaining an income under my terms?

All I know is, the creep never told her what it was he did.

She said he mentioned 'something about my skirt flitting up with the wind'.

Right.

Dude.

You left out the part about your pecker standing at attention, pointing to it and telling me that was 'my fault'.

What to do?

I could really use the money.

i know my inner self will guide me to the right decision