it was only day one ...

You really have to laugh.

My baby sister saw a pic Papi posted of us while we were in the 2nd tow truck after our car broke down and asked, "Why are you smiling?!?!"

Because you have to laugh.

We have a car we bought from the devil himself.  We had it 'repaired' the day before we left for our trip to the nerve center of this country.

I've been having some troubles being stranded at the side of the road in our small town in the country, but there's one problem area you do not want to experience being broken down in, and true to our nature of never ending drama, this is where the car was grounded.

Now, I've spoken before about how we're living in a pretty vicious country, but just to recap for those of you who are new to my world, people in this country are so desperate to get their cerveza for the day, they will kill you for 5 pesos.

I am not exaggerating.

We set out to the capitol, Santo Domingo, to get my salt air impaired piano fixed by the best in the country.

But not only that, we had 2 computers, also slain from living too close to the ocean, along with our computer we've been sharing and an iPad for the other soul who doesn't get to the shared computer first.

Oh, and cash in case we got stranded.

Off we drove with our tinted windows, to be sure people couldn't see we were gringos right away in hopes that we don't get accosted, and drove on a highway where there is nothing for miles, except for the occasional horse.

It's an ideal stretch for serial killers to dump bodies in, but we don't have that problem in this country.  Generally speaking, that seems to be more of a phenomenon of white men in 1st world countries.

However, it is a great place to be dumped after desperate pirates take everything you own, then kill you so you can't identify them.

Satan's Sedan croaked and we were stranded in bum-fuck-nowhere, Dominican Republic, near 2 horses who seemed to salute us with an anxious, "Neigh!!!!"

We were fortunate that this toll road had an emergency number.  We called it and the woman who spoke speed Spanish did her best to get information out of me about where we were.

"Ummm ... near 2 horses and coconut trees."  It couldn't have been arduous to find the farcical gringos with a raised hood.

When they arrived, they found me searching the grass.  Why?  Because when I had taken the radiator cap off, the lid blew off like a volcano.

Not to mention, I had green coolant dripping from my face, hair and clothing.  The saving grace was that I had waited long enough that the coolant did it's job and I didn't get a 3rd degree burn from boiling fluid.

Papi had a good laugh at my face of disgust.  Yeah.  Really funny.

Anyway, thanks to our emergency crew we didn't get killed by fortune hunters.

The emergency crew called a tow truck for us, but he could only bring us to the first toll booth.  We needed a 2nd one once we passed that border.

Upon meeting the first driver, I had asked Papi to please sit in the middle, so that I didn't have to sit beside what my spidey senses told me was a creepy man.

"No!  You speak Spanish!" Papi said.  Oh yes.  This guy whispered things to me in Spanish that Papi couldn't understand.

Really, I couldn't understand the words, but I understood the energy quite clearly.

We got to the 2nd leg of the highway of hell without being raped and the new tow truck driver, who was a sweet family man, got us to a repair shop with our car and all it's belongings in tow.

This is where we met the garage owner who had two thumbs ...

... i'm not kidding ... it was QUITE fascinating ...

... who told us that our engine was dead.

Dead engine.  Stuck 3 hours away from home, no clue to know whether he was lying or not with one option: we had to accept that we were going to have to pay for a new engine if we were to make it home again with the demon's dump of a jalopy.

An engine takes a little time to be put into a car, so we had a forced vacation, but there's so much more to tell you.

Why I'm writing a blog instead of practising my piano that we went all the way there to get fixed?  Because I can't find my fucking piano power cord.

Jeeeeeezus have I left all my cords in Santo Domingo?!?!?!

We can't do anything without drama, which is entertainment for everyone.

Don't ever feel bad if you have a boring life.

I'm thanking my angels that we got through the trip and made it back home alive.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to tend to a puking puppy.

And people wonder why I started drinking again ...

i allow my life to be filled with peace

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.

our worst day here

It's going to take a while to write this post with one hand.

My right arm is out of commission, which is very upsetting as Sunday, I received an invitation to my first piano gig on Saturday nights, and now I will have to delay that gig for at least 2 months.

Remember those Rottweilers a few houses down?  This attack was the worst yet.

We were trying to be responsible dog owners and had The Thug wear a muzzle for our beach walk.

When he ran to the neighbour's gate, we thought it would be fine because we were told the wicked woman had moved with her dogs.

She was back, and so was the pack.

They grabbed The Thug by the muzzle and all three of them started to tear at the flesh on his face and head.

Our poor baby had no defence because of the muzzle he was wearing, and the dogs pulled at him so hard his head was pulled right through the fence.

Now they had the advantage because his head was stuck and the three of these dogs really went to town ripping and tearing at The Thug's face, ears, eye and mouth.

We threw rocks, sticks, hit them on the head with the ends of the leashes, until finally, I tried to reached in to pull one of them off.

Instead of helping our sweet boy, I wound up with the Rottweiler's jaw clamped on my forearm.

Flipping my arm about like it was a rag doll, he looked like he was having a great time with the newest toy to enter his space.

Yet, the original toy, our dog, was more enticing and he let go of me to further work on ripping the face off our dog.

I ran screaming to the village for help and lucky for us, everyone came running.

By the time we all got back to the fence, The Thug had gone limp.  I truly believed he was dead.

Not only that, Papi had been bitten as well.

But the men grabbed coconut palm leaves and used the hard ends of the leaves to ward off the dogs.  Looking like lion tamers with a chair and whip, they held off the dogs while a few of us kicked in a part of the fence to help pull out our big boy.

There is nothing heavier than an 80 pound Pitbull who has gone limp after you've had your arm bitten by a Rottweiler.

But I didn't feel the pain of my arm at this point.  My whole mission was just to get my baby out of the fence so that they couldn't remove his entire head from his neck.

There was so much blood I couldn't even tell what his injuries were.

As the owner sauntered toward us, I yelled, "Get these doors fixed!  NOW!" followed by, "Now I need the hospital!" and finished off with giving her the finger and a scream of, "Fuck YOU!!!"  That's a language she understands even if my Spanish was lacking.

Unfortunately, on this North Coast of the island, there are no emergency vets.

We had to leave our sweet baby with Dominican Daddy to watch over him, while we rushed ourselves to the hospital to deal with our own lacerations.

Without getting too graphic for you, we both found that the flesh of our arms was exiting our wounds.

Fleshy bits where they shouldn't be.

It takes 30 minutes to drive to the hospital here.  It was the longest 30 minutes ever.

When we got there, because I couldn't move my fingers, they thought I had a broken arm, which would not be hard to fathom, considering who bit us.

However, I have learned since my motorcycle accident that I have the world's strongest bones and nothing was broken.

I visited The Thug at Dr. Bob's again today to see how he was doing.

He is completely despondent and wouldn't even lift his head when he saw me.

I truly believe he thinks we've given up on him.

Tomorrow he comes home.  Tomorrow can't come soon enough.

Papi, The Thug and I all have some healing to do.  Emotionally and physically.

People in the village have gone back and asked her to fix her gate, because her dogs have not only bit our dogs and us, but they have also bitten a child.

Her response?  "It's not my problem.  This is my house.  I don't need to fix it."

In this crazy, wild west of the Dominican Republic, it is not abnormal for people to be killed when an entire village is outraged.

I just hope they don't poison the dogs.  It's not their fault.  They have not been socialized.

She is the one who is evil.

And I will never put a muzzle on my dog again.

i treasure every day i am living

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

New Years Eve in the DR!

So, I was invited to celebrate New Year's Eve with the village.

Instead of just staying right in the village as per usual, everyone was up at the street bar.  You know?  The one where I'm going to have my first piano gig?

There was much dancing and screaming and children running around.

Oh, not to mention the bar chihuahua barking.

It was also someone's birthday on this night.

I don't bring anything with me other than my camera for filming, so I couldn't buy the birthday boy a beer.

I went home to get some money to do so.  120RD pesos will get you the JUMBO beer.  That should do him good.

However, when I returned, I realized that somewhere on that dark, puddled, rocky path we walk to get to the street bar, I lost 100 of the 200 pesos I had brought.

Upon stating this, out loud, it seemed the entire bar emptied.  I suppose to go find my 100 pesos and get themselves their beer.

Finders keepers!

I wasn't about to do that night time trek through the paths of the village to look for the equivalent of $2.50.

I still don't know who the lucky person is who found it, but shortly thereafter, everyone decided to go to the Party At The Gas Station!!!

Sounds like a great place to have the New Years countdown, no?

I went home to get my purse and use the washroom, and dammit, I locked the padlock on the iron gate, but had left my keys inside!!!  For fucks sakes!!!

Let me tell you, that lock is STURDY. Nobody will get through it with difficulties, and it made me happy to know we're in such a secure house.

It took 3 people and 40 minutes to get the iron gate open.  They finally just had to break the iron that the lock was on, because that lock wasn't budging.

I fully recommend the Yale lock we have.  100%.

By the time they opened it, we had 20 minutes to get to the Party At The Gas Station!!!

All the cabs were full, so I did what I said I would NEVER do.

Take a moto.

There I was crammed between Housemaid and our driver.  Terrified.  I was thinking, "This may be the day that I die."  However, our driver wasn't a drinker, so I felt a little safer.

Honestly, we got to the Party At The Gas Station!!! with 5 minutes to spare and my Honky 'Fro looking like a street cat had nestled in it.

I didn't care.  I only wanted to film their countdown.  Problem is, they don't countdown.

One person yells it's time and the rest of the party erupts in a fiendish jumping, screaming, bottles clanging, motos tooting and engines revving.

By the time I realized what was going on, I had to turn my camera on as fast as possible!!!

I still caught the mayhem, because it went on for about 15 minutes.  I only wish you could have seen the initial wave of screams as it neared us at the far end of the bar!

But then!  All of a sudden the people we met there left to go to bar #3!

There I was following along like a lost puppy to the new one that has just opened up down the road.

It was time for some serious dancing.  And boy did the men there want to dance with the gringa.

I tried to tell one guy, that was a tad touchy-feely, that I was married, but the word 'married' (casada) and 'tired' (cansada) are very similar, so after he was groping I merely had told him I'm tired.

Good one.  Yeah.  That will do the trick.

Thankfully, I had Housemaid there to watch while they tried to lure me to the back of the club (I don't want to know the reasons), but Housemaid would pull me back to the front where it was safe.

It was my FIRST Bachata dance!  Bachata music is a native music to the Dominican Republic.  I learned the moves really fast and damn, if I do that once a week I'll have thighs like a tree trunk!!  Now I know how all the girls have such plump round butts here!!!

I was also pleased that my ankle could do it.  More than pleased if you want the truth.  I wanted to dance all night!

But now it was 3 in the morning, and everyone we knew left to go to bar #4 in Cabarete.

Not me.  It was time to go home in a cab with drunk locals, which was also party in itself.

I wish Papi were here for the entertainment.

Only 2 more sleeps!

my life is filled with joy

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

silent day

i just realized i never shared episode 38 with you!  here's your sunday sillies a little late

After a few days of grieving heavily for the loss of our little baby-dog, Harley, my time got very busy to help me move on from the sadness and get shit done.

We had to prepare for the village.

It's been an intense week and I have had no time to tell you about everything.

We started off with playing Santa to the children in the village.

But first, we had to drive almost an hour to Puerto Plate to buy the toys.  It was a store Housemaid told us about where the toys are inexpensive and we can get a discount.

That was of course, after the boss finished his chicken.  No talking until his chicken was done.

On the day of giving, we walked out of our yard door to see the entire village of children jumping up and down, arms to the air with tight little fists pumping upon every bounce off the ground.

Of course, Papi and I had Housemaid to help us with wrangling the kids.  As we approached the excited horde of short people, she yelled, "You don't get your presents unless you are at your house!"

Immediately, they ran home to wait eagerly for our arrival.

Later that same day, we were going to give out rum to the adults.  The adults were very insistent about us giving them presents as well.

We also realized we couldn't just give to a few people, that we needed to give a lot more to the rest of the village.

Off we went, credit card in hand and bought a box full of bottles of rum.  Let me tell you, the kids were easy to get back to their houses to wait for their gifts, but the adults?  It was a very insane time.

Grabbing, yelling, frantically wanting their share and trying to get more than we had allotted for for everyone.

Next year, we will be giving out food and care packages instead.

That night, there was quite the party in the village, as we listened to sounds of gunshots.

Well, we thought they were gunshots.

It wasn't until being invited to the party last night that I realized what it was.

Housemaid and Dominican Daddy invited to me the Fiesta de Navidad.

My DR Family fed me a meal, in which they were so generous as to buy special Dominican chicken and rice.

I brought a huge salad, which we topped with the Dominican dressing.

I also brought the grapes, which are like a tradition for the dinner.

Oh, and a few bottles of red wine.

Another tradition is lots of apples.

People are lucky to be able to eat healthy, local, organic produce here, whereas in Canada, these foods are the more expensive of the choices.

Not here.  Instead, junk food is expensive.

Anyway, back to the 'gunshots' I heard.

They have what looks like a bazooka, that is filled with some kind of explosives and they put all kinds of chemicals in and "BOOM!!!" it goes, as I startled with every firing.

Last night, people danced and drank, ate apples and grapes, while sharing their beer with children.

Yes.

Children.

It seems normal to everyone here, but when I saw a father giving beer to his 8 month old baby, it really disturbed me.

What can I do though?  I'm not here to preach about anyone's culture and it seems this is what everyone does with their children.

The party then moved up to the street, where we found the village bar.  Lovely woman serving, who's house is below the establishment.

She invited me in to see her house and while she walked I spoke to her about playing and singing at her bar, reminding her that it would be for free.

It'll be my practise gig when I'm ready in a few months.

Anyway, that has been my week, and rest assured that it was all on video!

Today I settle in for a quiet day, while I wait eagerly to hear from Papi who is somewhere in Vancouver.

And it's a silent day in the village.

The dogs have had nothing to bark at.

i am grateful for the time shared with those who have left to be with angels

she's stealing my heart.

I'm having a hard time playing today.

Every song I play makes me cry.

Normally, playing is like prozac that seeps from the piano through my fingers and takes away emotional distress.

Not today.

Every word I sing, every melody I play is making me cry.

Pathetic Puppy is probably not going to make it.

She is in renal failure.  Her blood is at less than 7% in her body.

We've given her some stuff to piddle like crazy and try to flush her out, but honesty, renal failure can't be reversed.

She's so heartbreaking.

When Papi and I first saw her, she had a hole in her head and had just lost an eye.

She's had a lump grow in that eye after we healed the hole in her head.

Every medicine we give her to help with the ticks has her puking and she's definitely the runt.

She's only a year old, and the little woeful girl is more than likely on her way out.

I was alone when I spoke to Dr. Bob this morning.

I only had Dominican Daddy to talk to about my sad news, and when I told him, he looked like he might cry.

Later, Housemaid told us that he's grieving because she was his favourite dog.

I have to say, she was my favourite too.

You can't help but make her your favourite.

She's so pitiful.

I always go for the underdog.

My heart is very heavy and I can't stop holding her.

Normally, playing would take away the pain.

Not today.

It's pulling every tear out of me and making it hard to continue.

I'll try to play again tomorrow, I suppose.

Or perhaps I'll only work on some chord progressions.

That will keep me from listening to words in a song.

It's the words and melody that get me.

Every song had something that I could relate to this little girl.

She's going to be with the angels soon.

They're so lucky to have her.

We were so fortunate to be the people to have her in our life.

How lucky we have been!

She was only granted one year of life, and we got to spend it with her.

Still, I'm so sad.

I know the angels will allow her to visit us.  I know, but I'll never get to hold her skinny little muzzle with that underbite.

Her one soulful eye will never be able to sway me into letting her have my seat in the La-Z-Boy while I suffer on a wooden chair.

She will soon be only a memory.

Soon, she will be a spirit and I'm sure she'll be taken care of by all of those before who have left and taken a piece of our hearts with them.

I'll hold you until you go, little girl.

i embrace the rhythm and the flowing of my own heart

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 

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

an apology

I'm sorry.

I left this place, but I came to realize, that was selfish.

I came to 'you' for your support a few years ago.

Some time later, I felt I needed to move away from this place.

I have since found that 'you' needed me, too.

After all that time you were there for me, I took myself away from 'you'.

I've had people tell me they miss me.

They miss my words.

They miss my stories.

They miss me.

So, I'm not retiring this blog.

I'm coming back.

Papi, too, told me it's good for me.

He also told me that no matter what anybody says, no matter how anybody judges me, this space is MY space with MY perspective.

I spent some time going through other social media sites and removed any bad energy, negativity and those who have hurt my heart.

I felt bad about it, for others' feelings, because people may feel slighted.

However, I do have the right to have my space be positive and lord knows how my emotions can be swayed I can be by mass ostracization.

I allow myself to focus on the love now.

This is a public space, but it is also an honest space.

A place where people can relate.

A place where 'you' can read my words and allow my honesty to help you realize 'you' and I are not much different.

I have a secret to tell you.

I didn't quit the blog because I felt it was time to move on.

I quit because I felt that I had nothing good to speak about, and that judgement from so many had finally taken it's toll.

Well, I know now that I have VERY much that is worthy to speak about.

I very much have greatness of life to share, balanced by moments of dire honesty.

I am able to walk on my ankle now, and am not in pain 24-7.  This helps lighten my moods, that's for sure.

I have one set ready for piano gigs, and am working on my next sets.

I've been spending countless hours playing my piano enjoying myself.

It has been really good for me.

Good for my heart.

A good break from everything.

I can't promise I'll be writing to 'you' every day, because my music must take precedence right now.

Which is OK.

But I want you to know that I am sorry for leaving you.

Your emails, notes, comments, words through Papi have all allowed me to realize that 'you' need me just as much as I needed you all those years.

I am grateful for you, and grateful for those of you who spoke up and made me realize I'm wanted.

'You', are awesome.

'You', are great.

'You', made me feel loved.

Thank you.

i am motivated by peace

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

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

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

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.