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

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

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

wild wild west.

It's bloody crazy here.

The wild west you could say, or the chaotic caribbean.

So, we had a guy attack a tourist right down from our house on beach the other day.

It doesn't happen too often, and actually there are more predators in Canada than there are here.

But I can't imagine how scared that poor girl was.

She was renting a house 4 doors down for a vacation, went walking along the beach and a guy grabbed her, tearing her bikini top off.

Police and the good men of our village were out scouring the beach trying to find the piece of shit offender.

I hope they found him.

Unlike in Canada, where men get to repeat their offences after a small stint in jail, here, well I probably don't have to tell you what happens to scumbags here.

They actually get what's coming to them.

I am grateful for my tattoos.  Men here generally think I'm an insane biker chick because of them and they don't attack me, even if my tattoos are just flowers and birds.

But today?  We had more to deal with than just the creep in the hood.

This morning, we started our day with a royal fight with the Housemaid.

You see, a few months back, we were going to get massive rocks out front our house to keep our pool and wall from being washed to sea.

We couldn't afford the rocks right away, but the Housemaid told us we had to pay Mr. Extortion now, or the price would go up later.

We did.

I then asked for the papers for permission and the Housemaid said, "Oh, you don't need it.  When it's time to do the rocks, I'll just talk to them and tell them you're starting."

I asked for the papers to make sure this was all on the up and up, but she assured me I didn't need them.

Today, we were getting a bandaid put on our property.  A bunch of sacks of concrete to keep until we can afford the rocks.

Mr. Extortion, also known as 'The Marina', who are the biggest fucking thieves in the country, came and said we had to pay to put the protective bags there.

We said we already did.

They said, "No, that guy isn't here anymore and there's was a 3 month window you had to do it in."

Right.

So, they conveniently left that part out, OR they know how things work here and know that the Housemaid took that money and are covering for her.

We have no way of really knowing which it is, but today, there was Papi, red hot in the face and ready to forcibly remove her from the property, because we've had enough of the lies and stealing.

I've never seen him this mad.  I was almost laughing, because of my super power, giggling, when I get too uncomfortable.

We played good cop, bad cop unti I got her to admit that she took the money from the building of the wall and that she stole our paint and lied about it.

I knew the truth about these things all along, but today, I got her to apologize for them and admit them.  All I wanted was honesty.

I then told her, "You fix this.  We trusted you.  If this gets fixed, you can still have your job here.  If not, you'll have to go.  I told you when you started that we can only have honest people.  We need to be able to trust you.  You are in our house!"

Honestly, the main reason we hire people here for work is because the entire village is their family and we know how protection here works.

We need to have the security of having everyone in the village on our side.

So we hire them for work, and everyone takes care of us, because we are paying for their children to go to school.

But still, we pay.  And pay some more.  And get robbed.  And then pay some more.

I've never experienced such insanity in the cushy country of Canada.

Well, except from the politicians who like to steal from us.

Here?  It's everyone.  Politicians, friends, workers, and that rat bastard Mr. Extortion 'Marina'.

I understand how people become so fucking jaded here.

And people judge us for having a wall and guns?

I think it's time to build a sniper tower.

i am redefining what it means to trust

is there a secret i'm missing?

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

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

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

Upon nearing the sofa, I found out otherwise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

... I went to work on the quinoa.

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

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

Oh, this couch is not ours.

The crap was beside it.

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

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

No, this couch is not ours.

It belongs to them.

Those stinky little bastards we love so much.

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

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

"Rest.  No walking," the surgeon said.

Right.

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

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

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

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

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

"Rest.  No walking."

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

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

"Rest.  No walking."

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

"Rest.  No walking."

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

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

"Rest.  No walking."

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

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

Oh, but I'll rest.

Later.

i am capable of making healthy choices

moto crutching

Our car is in the shop, but I had to teach yesterday.

So, off I hobbled with my crutches up to the main road.

The people here in my village are so damn sweet.

While I waited for a taxi, they offered me a seat, watching for a taxi and waved it down for me.  They then held on to my crutches until I got in the car and handed them back.

Not to mention, the people in the car all arranged themselves so that I could be in front to make space for my crutches as well.

Honestly, I've never experienced the hospitality like I do here.

Even on the way back, an entire bus load of people moved about to make sure I was in the front for space with my crutches.

In Vancouver, lazy assholes sit in the disability seats not even standing for a woman who looks like she's at the end of her pregnancy term.

We don't have jerks like that here.

However, when you take the taxi or bus, they only run along one main road.

I had to make the trek to get to Dream Project, which would be a good 20 minute walk from the highway on HEALTHY feet.

There was NO way I could walk that road in my state.

I took a moto.

There I was, crutches in one hand, other hand on the man in front of me.

Gingerly squeezing my thighs against his hips, I feared that it's not the way people do things here, and I thought I looked like a twit.

People look like they don't even hang on.

Not me.  The hand that wasn't holding on to crutches was white knuckled holding on the seat below me.

Even if I did do everything exactly right, people would stare because there was a gringa on the back of a moto carrying crutches.

That's more of a Dominican act.

But I made it over every speed bump, smiled and waved at the local coffee man, and we stopped at Dream Project.

Now to get off the moto.  Fuck.

While compensating for my meagre balance, for fear of falling because I was trying to stand on one foot, I burned the inside of my calf on the exhaust pipe.

I didn't want anyone to know, because I was so embarrassed that I forgot about the detail of getting off the back of a bike.

Watch the fucking exhaust pipe!!!!

It's been a while since I've been on the back of a motorcycle.

Anyway.  Singe.  Burn.

Seeing that my students were all there watching me get off the bike, I was holding back the profanities with gritted teeth, then made my way up to the class.

I didn't want them to know about my mishap, as I was humiliated, so I pretended it didn't happen.

One of my students noticed and pointed to hers as well.  She had an exhaust pipe burn that was half way through it's healing process.

I see what mine will look like in a week or so.

She laughed at me when I said, "One leg this, the other leg that!" indicating that I now have 2 screwed legs that look like I've been through battle.

I taught with the burn screaming at me for the first hour.

By the time I got home, it was a swollen rust coloured mess and Papi lovingly took care of it with polysporin and gauze.

Then he forced me into using ice and heat for my healing ankle.

Following that, he made me dinner and poured me my well deserved glass of wine.

My baby is back to being that loving, generous soul I fell in love with.

It's important to remember that relationships ebb and flow just the same as our own personal emotions.

The state of a relationship is just an extension of our own inner self.

Anyway, I'm not sure what it is about this country, but between Papi and I, we've both had nothing but wee accidents all over the place.

I guess we're going to toughen up.

It feels like we've gone to battle.

i give myself permission to both fail and succeed

 i missed a day of gratitude ... apologies ...Gratitude 4/10
1. I am grateful I toasted my coffee beans yesterday for awesome coffee today.
2. I am grateful I was able to teach yesterday and today.
3. I am grateful for the children making me happy.
4. I am grateful for air conditioning.
5. I am grateful Papi and I have lovingly communicated about our emotions.
6. I am grateful for the sweet people in this country.
7. I am grateful for all my friends showing me how much I'm loved.
8. I am grateful to have so many friends.
9. I am grateful for my Fuzzy Family making me laugh.
10. I am grateful I'm in a relationship with someone who works at it as much as me.

emasculation

Jeeeeezus ... I needed that.

I needed to look at a beautiful sight of people being happy and enjoying themselves.

I needed The Chef Extraordinaire to fry up some Dominican barbecued chicken, traditional side plate of fried bananas, and purple potato salad.

I've never seen that one before, but I suppose, here, it's normal to put beets in potato salad and it tasted just as good.

They laughed when I said, "Why is it red!?!?!?"

It was torture for me, walking to our spot, but once I was there, the only time I moved was to go pee in the bush like everyone else.

OK.  Forget about drunk crutching through a crowded bar with the potential of slipping in beer.

Let me tell you, if you've never tried to walk with crutches in the beach, it's a feat upon itself.

... hehee pardon the pun ...

It felt like every step I took, I was going to disappear like sliding into quick sand.

Then, once out of the sinking sand, I had to find a spot to piddle, bushwacker style.

Papi held me up by the armpits and I hoped for the best.

I obviously didn't think about the fact that there wouldn't be a toilet on a public beach.  The public beach IS a toilet for most folks who don't have one.

We watched children playing, teens making music with a güira and conga, and hawks flying above us all looking for their feed of fish.

We didn't bring the princess chair when we realized we were the transportation for everyone.  No room for the chair.

But what they do here is rent out chairs and tables at the beach, so we just rented it.

The funny part is, when these folks want to go home, they come and take back their chairs and tables, kicking you off the beach.

It's a riot!

Partway through our fun time, I noticed Papi was getting a little overzealous with the beer, so I stopped my wine intake quite early.

I was now the driver.

Papi said, "But I feel like it emasculates me!  Here the woman can't drive!"

What?!?!  Who are you trying to kid?

When it comes to wheels here, there is no problem to have 3 grown men groin to butt on a motorcycle.

In Canada?  You wouldn't even have ONE male on the back of your bike.

People are so weird about that in Canada and the US.

Here, I've seen women riding scooters with their boyfriends riding bitch.

The men here hug each other.

They touch each other on the arm, waist, whatever.

They wear bright pink, and are more metrosexual than ANY guy I've seen in Canada.

They don't have anything to prove of their sexuality and here, men just seem to come out of the womb macho.  Could have something to do with the fact that they're put to labour as soon as their arms can wield a machete.

Besides, as far as their concerned, there are NO gay people here.

With the exception of the male hookers, but even then, people rationalize, "They're not really gay.  They just need the money."

So, no, Papi, you will ride shotgun when you've drank more than your share.

And off we went with the portable BBQ to drive our newfound friend back to Cabarete, dropping our DR Family off along the way at our tiny little road to our village.

This morning, our new friend who did all the cooking came bay with a gift.  Sweeter than sweet.

There are some really good people here.

Yesterday, I watch the entertainment and forgot about my immobility for a while, not to mention, finished off the filming for this week's YouTube show.

It was wonderful.

In one hour, we go to the hospital to see if this damn cast can come off.

Wish me luck.  Let's hope this is the day I have my legs back.

If it's not, I will do my best to find ways to enjoy myself none-the-less.

Enough of that fucking bed.

i have the ability to see the brighter side

Peeping Juan is back.

While The Guard was here, he noticed Peeping Juan staring in on our yard.

Normally, I would consider Dominican Daddy to be a sweet man, incapable of intimidating anyone.

With the exception of kids in the village that is.  Oh, but how they listen to him.

So, while he was looking at Peeping Juan staring into our yard, he gave the man the best stink eye I've seen in a while.

I was shocked.

Not just stink eye.

'Staring him down' stink eye.

'Barely blinking' stink eye.

That Peeping Juan never looked in our yard again.

That is of course, until he figured out we don't have The Guard anymore, and while Papi and I were in the pool, he realized I was topless.

We sorta thought we were free of the bastard, so we tried to enjoy our freedom.

I had wrapped my leg in plastic bags, put it up on the ledge and allowed the rest of myself to finally melt into the cool water, reclined on our seating area with my head resting poolside.

It was absolutely lovely.

I thought maybe I could do this more often.  Just have many plastic bags ready.

When Papi told me we had an issue, I damn near flipped out.

Papi said, "Don't freak out.  He has a gun."

I decided, "Fine.  Then I'll chop my mother fucking coconuts with my mother fucking machete and show him I'm capable of chopping his mother fucking dick off if he tried to come near me."

Off I crutched to my coconut chopping area, angrier than a stick poked hornets nest.

Every chop I did I said something that sounded good with exertion.

Didn't matter if it was in English.

"Can you!  Get me!  The!  Ant!  Killer!!!!"

There were ants everywhere.

It didn't matter.  He doesn't speak English.

For all he knows, my anger was saying, "I will!  Chop your!  Dick!  Right!  Off!"

It was my intention anyway.

Even though I was on crutches with a cast, I thought, if this is how I can yield this right now, give me a week, bitch.

You will not be messing with me.

He caught me on a Hurricane Andréa day.

I took all my anger out on that coconut, and the best part was, when I was finished, I had some lovely coconut water to enjoy from my labours.

I imagined myself as a cannibal serial killer, drinking his fucking blood.

I watched his perch as I drank the beautiful healing water.

I'm so angry now about this prick.

When the new people move in, I will tell them what their guard does and request they find someone who isn't a creep.

The new neighbour will understand.  He's an Canadian ex cop.

He won't want a person staring into someone's yard like a predator on his dime.

Anyway, I'm feeling much better now.

Mother nature gave me a nice fucking visit, so now I am not an old bag.  Yet I'm still cussing out my uterus for doing the only fucking thing it knows how.

I stopped eating the wheat so my brain is much more manageable.

I have accepted this fucking cast and crutches and am trying to tough out the pain like I did with my bitch of a back for 4+ years until we finally got here to Casa Paraíso.

I managed to play my piano yesterday and just sucked up the pain in order to give my heart some well needed practise, learning the new song MusicMan and I are working on: Jesse & Joy - ¡Corre!

And I showed myself I can still cut a fucking coconut despite my current situation.

Guess what tomorrow's task is?

Coconuts galore!

i am badass

dear sir, you are loved.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Real friends with real love.

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

He was splendid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It could be equally as dangerous.

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

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

Their actions will never leave my soul.

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

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

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

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

That there CAN be a different reaction.

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

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

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

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

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

My spirit is closed to their negativity.

They were trying to spread more hate.

So much can be done with love.

Hate?

Nah.

You can't fight hate with hate.

Only love wins.

Dearest beautiful, gay man, you are SO loved!

i choose to stop apologizing for being me

heartbreaking ... fearful

I can handle seeing people being hurt.

I can't handle seeing, or for that matter, even hearing about, an animal being hurt.

I've always been like that.

And as one of the most recent haters, who considers me a HORRIBLE person, so crudely put it, "You have dogs you pamper, while people are starving."

Yes.

I do.

And if I could save the world, I would.

But I can't.

So, I love my dogs and I teach music without charge because children can't afford it.

It's about all I can do.

But the point is, I heard such horrible news about some animals here.

I try to understand.

It's cultural.

It's survival.

About a 45 minute drive from here is a gated community in Sosúa.

This is a place expats go to live to feel 'safe' from the murders, robberies, and to be amongst people who 'understand' you, because they came from your own culture.

Yeah.

We don't live there.

We live with people who are really from here.

Anyway.

This 'safe' place had a horrible experience.

All their dogs, as in ALL their dogs were poisoned.

The entire gated community's dogs, deceased.  Cats deceased.

Poisoned.

Obviously, their armed guards, who are the ones supposedly keeping them safe, couldn't do much to help this.

Besides, here, The Guard is usually the one to rob you.

Here, thieves poison your dogs, returning while you're in agony from grieving, and rob you.

There is an entire community grieving over Fuzzy Families.

I'm heartbroken over this.

I'm also seeing that we really have to pay CLOSE attention to the possibility that anything could be thrown into the yard.

We have to diligently look for 'treats' thrown our babies' way.

We seem to be getting quite complacent.

We seem to feel quite protected by the wonderful people who live in our village.

The other day, the whole village came running when they heard a few gunshots go off.

They thought it came from our way, but it was a cop shooting at a drug dealer down the road, but still, they all came running to make sure we were OK.

We know, that with the exception of a couple of people, that those in our village are not the ones we're needing to protect ourselves from.

Yes.

They are good people, but they have friends who don't look at us as people to protect.

We are simply white people who have things they could sell to support themselves and their family.

We have beautiful fuzzies that we would be in utter despair if someone took their lives.

Another world.

Another culture.

To me, it's heartbreaking what desperate people need to do to survive.

I'm afraid for my babies.

As horribly behaved as they are, I love them.

i choose to live in freedom over fear

drunk crutching.

... your sunday sillies ...

I didn't think it out too clearly.

Well, the party I was invited to was actually a hang out with the entire village at the Isla Gas Station.

Party At The Gas Station!!!!!

It happens every weekend.

Only this time I was on crutches.

Some people were helpful, some people would just stand in my way, while staring at the out of place gringa.

Then there were the washrooms.

Remember when I told you about thighs of steel from not being able to sit on the loo?

Alright.  So, now that I only have one thigh ...

... ummmm ...

It was something short of a comedy routine.

This time, it was a task for my triceps.

They were shaking about while I tried my best to balance and hover over a toilet, all the while keep the crutches from slipping under the neighbouring stall, then falling on the urine infused floor with my shorts around my ankles.

At least, they were giving out napkins for toilet paper this time.

Not that it mattered.

By the time I was able to balance on one foot, reach in to my shorts pocket for the paper with the one hand that WASN'T holding me up with the other crutch, and hover just a little less to be able to do a functional reach around, piddle had dribbled down my leg.

Nice.

I was wearing white shorts.

Next came the task of wobbling back through all the people on the dance floor.

Now, this is hard enough for someone who has two feet.

Now, add in crutches.

Now, add in a pint of beer in my system.

Now, add in the assault of the speaker in your ear as you try to get past the distortion as quickly as possible, but not so fast that your crutches come out from underneath you, because the floor is slippery from spilled beer, and you have a frantic femme.

My balance is not so great at the best of times.

Alcohol will make that worse, crutches will make it even harder.

But I did it.

I finally made it back to my seat, sweating once more from the task I accomplished.

I was quite exhausted from the whole scene, and it made me not want to put any more liquid into my bladder.

Every single person who asked what happened immediately says, "Moto accident?"

Seems about right.

With the amount of people who drink and moto, there are so many of them who lose a limb on an average day.

To have a broken ankle from a moto accident isn't unheard of.

No, I do special stunts.

I like to fall off a wall, tearing a ligament in my ankle.

Now I just have to be sure that while I'm on crutches, I don't incur any more injuries.

The humiliation of piddle dribble was enough.

I don't need my 2nd cast of my life time on an arm because I slipped and fell because of crutches.

No, I stopped drinking quite early to be sure I didn't have a rebound injury.

Drunk crutching.

I don't recommend it.

i know how to adequately fuel my body

i need my love ...

... your sunday sillies ...

OK.

So, if it's not bad enough that those of us with O.C.D. check our alarm clocks non-stop, what happens when that damn thing doesn't work?!?!?!

Well, then, we with O.C.D. are going to be EVEN MORE frantic about checking the time throughout the night.

I had mine set.  All ready to go.

My new Samsung Galaxy actually tells you, every time you save or make a change, that the time is set for 'X' amount of hours and minutes from now.

Great for someone with O.C.D.  Unless that fucking thing doesn't go off.

OR!

It's possible the alarm isn't loud enough to wake me up.  That may be the case as well.  I might download something REALLY obnoxious to wake me up.

Never-the-less, as per my usual checking of the time all night long, I looked at my clock, only to realize I was supposed to be out for The Garage Band kids 5 MINUTES PREVIOUS!!!!!!

Seriously.  I woke up 5 minutes after 8.  I was supposed to be up at 7 to prepare for the niños!

I limped out as fast as I could, because when I woke up in the morning, my damn ankle had ballooned again.

I suppose I did something to it the night before when I went to the birthday party in the village for the Housemaid.

You see, I brought the birthday girl some red wine, and of course, I indulged, as it seemed myself and the birthday girl were the only ones they were pouring it for, and everyone else drank beer.

I wasn't out to get snapped, as I had to get up to teach the next day, and besides, the object of the game isn't about getting corked anymore.

It's just for pleasure of some relaxation.

No pain.  As in, no fucking hangovers!

Surely, I wouldn't want to have a Buffalo Breath while singing for the kids.

Nor would I like to have a llama shitting in my mouth the night before teaching, as I wouldn't have the time to shave my tongue before class.

Alas, the wine I brought ran out.

People just kept sending children off to buy more beer, and I just stuck to sipping my wee glass of red wine, giggling at the drunken antics of others.

Then someone showed up with a bottle I'd never seen before: Dominican wine.

"Try some!" they said.  So I did.  I thought they tricked me into drinking some kind of whiskey.

I had to ask them a few times, "True?  This is wine?"  They explained that it is made from apples.  Who knew apples could be so evil!

I just kept saying, "This is strong!" as they laughed at the lightweight gringa.  I didn't need to tell them who I used to be in a former drinking stage of my life.

I only needed the one glass, even though Mr. Gummy kept prodding me to drink more to match his own level of alcoholism.

They kept asking, "But who will drink all this?!?!"

I'm sure you did fine without me, folks.

Off I went to my house, and as the wine wore off, with the help of time and a lot of water, that damn ankle began its wailing of disdain of my treatment toward it.

I guess I walked around too much, not realizing it, because I had that magic elixir that took away all pain, allowing me to walk MORE!

I thought little sleep would take care of that!  I'm in the land of healing, no?!?!

I guess it doesn't count when you've done something 'new' to yourself.

So, I lied in bed all day yesterday, trying to get the swelling down with my legs up, doing my best to ignore my throbbing toes.  It is bloody angry.

I listened to dogs fart and snore all day, and I suppose that's my lot again as I rest it today.

I have the feeling I did something a little ominous to my dear wee ankle.  Oh, how I wish I had pain meds.

Come home Papi!!

9 sleeps left.

Oh, how I need you, but how I miss you even more than that.

i believe i can be kinder to myself

it is possible!

I'm tired and I want to kill the Fuzzy Family today.

Apparently, so does Old Ghost Face.  We're all a little cranky.

I'm sure it was Pathetic Puppy who tore into the garbage.

The Thug has been hunting cats all night.  That is of course, when he wasn't panting from the heat.

The Donkey has been jumping on to the bed, causing Sir Bark-a-Lot to do what he does best, and Jake-a-Like has been sprawled along my body, making me warmer than I thought possible.

This is the first day here that I can actually say, "I'm too hot."  This will be the first day I'll experience what gratitude for a pool really means.

It's not so much the heat, so much as what comes with it.

Our air conditioner doesn't work when there's not enough city power to juice the batteries.

That means nobody in the village has had any power for a good day and a half.

At least we had enough to run our water.  People in the village have nothing.  It fucking sucks and don't get me started on how the government doesn't care about the people here.

Anyway, it was hot last night, but I don't usually mind the heat.

However, when there's no air conditioner, it means windows are open.

When windows are open it means mosquitos come in looking for snacks.

When they use my body for a meal, I'm up all night scratching.

Every available body part was eaten.

I was ready to tear my skin off last night.

Then, couple that with sweating and bug spray, and you have a sticky mess of dirt that beads and rolls on your skin as you scratch, making it look like you have miniature mouse shit all over your body.

Of course, the mosquitos are NOTHING compared to the ants that bite.

Seriously.  Way to harsh my mellow.

Thought I'd have some wine to help me sleep through the heat, and the ants thought it was a great idea as well!!!

In no time flat, I was flailing from being covered in ants who were biting my hands and arms, and those bitches hurt!!!!!

Then there's the itch that comes with the welts due to their chomping.  It's like the devil himself has crawled under my olive casing, adding salt and vinegar to the wounds.

When the ants nip me, I scratch until I bleed, leaving my derma with great gashes guaranteed to weep with pus later in the day.

These are the kinds of days I wish I didn't have to wear a bra.  A bra in the heat is pure hell.

It's not just the fact that it's tight up against my sweaty skin, but trying to get it on is like a game of twister.

It sticks to my shell before I can get it into place, then trying to adjust it once it's stuck is game of skill.

Forget about trying to get a sports bra on.  That will NEVER happen.  It will just roll along my skin, looking like the world's thinnest tube top.

It's the kind of day where you can shower away the sweat, but once you dry yourself from the shower, it's back in mere seconds.

It could be that I can't handle the heat because I had no sleep last night from the dogs' antics, and Papi up all night trying to get power back on.

That could be why I'm not enjoying this amazingly beautiful day.

Or, it's the fact that the heat has made it hard to sleep, leaving me a bitchy mess.

Today, I made my coffee extra strong.

Not to mention, I don't give a shit what I'm 'supposed to wear' as a white person to keep me safe from predators.

At this point, I'm wearing my fucking tank tops and cool, short, breezy skirts.

I'm bitchy enough that if anyone violates me today I won't have any problem telling them to fuck off.

Even if it's in English.  They'll know what the hell I mean by the nasty look on my face.

Maybe I'll pack my stun gun.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go scratch.

Indeed, it IS possible for ME to be TOO hot.

i sleep soundly and beautifully through the night

6 months

Tomorrow, we will have been here 6 months.

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

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

This princess has never lived in the country.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Our home is not easy access.

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

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

We have deterrents.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I have learned what culture shock means.

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

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

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

Generosity has nothing to do with money.

It is honestly the spirit.

i am happy in my own skin and my own circumstances

we are happy

... your sunday sillies: crash!! ...

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

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

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

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

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

For instance, the 2 tiniest of them all.

The lowest to the ground prances around without any pants.

It makes sense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

OH, how she tried

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

Her voice was voluminous!

Her clapping was colossal and packed a punch!

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

It made me tingle.

Even the dogs in the hood came by to watch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The underdog.

I always love the underdog.

I want to help him shine amongst the others.

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

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

Andréa Hector-Brown 

10800 NW 103 St. 

Ste. 5E

Medley, Florida 

33178

United States

Right now, we just clap.

And we are happy.

i compare myself only to my highest self

Garage Band

... your sunday sillies ...

Well, it wasn't the throngs of children I thought it would be.

No, it was quite a bit different than how I had it pictured in my mind.

I waited patiently, sitting on my little foot stool, outside Casa Paraíso.

In hand, I had my Sharpie Pen drawings of the first two notes I'd teach them, along with the list of names I had compiled of all those interested.

Nobody came.

Eventually, I saw one child nearing my direction.

Ah!  Dominican Time!  I see!

But alas, he was only going to watch them build the house next door.

So, I decided to take a stroll through the village.

Once more, I felt like the pied piper.

Not to mention, a little like the town cryer, "It's music day!  Do you want to sing with me?"

All I need is a solid brass hand bell to ring it on Saturdays when it's time to start!

One by one they'd follow, and when I was done, that list of 40 children was reduced to about 12.

No problem!  I'm good with that!

We all scampered to the beach in front of our house, and the children automatically planted themselves firmly on a log.

One problem: I had to yell above the waves!

By the time we were done, my voice was so weak, it sounded like it used to after an ear damaging concert when I was a teen.

No, this is not going to work.

I can't have them in my yard, because of the danger of the pool and puppies.

My foresight was right in that they'd be like Mexican jumping beans.  It's hard to teach, PLUS keep an eye on these little critters.

I don't need someone drowning in the pool or harassing a dog so much that they get bit.

So, next week, we're in the garage!  Our new digs!  The Garage Band.

No yelling, shelter from rain and safety from The Donkey who is sure to bowl over anyone who is close to the height of my hips.

Not to mention, we'll have the acoustics of an A-Frame room!

Furthermore, I won't have to watch them pee on our property.

I'm not kidding.

Middle of the lesson, they had to pee, and one by one they walked to the corner of our lot and peed on our wall right in front of me.

I think they had a bit too much fun doing this.

Papi was a bit appalled when I laughed about it, but I assured him, "Honey, they pee on our wall anyway, so it's nothing new.  The ocean is their washroom."

I can't tell you how many human feces we've seen along the shoreline.

Anyway, there are always a few trouble makers, but I'll tell you, if I'm not getting paid to teach, then I won't have them in my class.

I gave one a strict warning with the first set of 'rules', "You're here to sing.  If you don't want to sing, you go to your house.  I've told you twice, third time you go."

My Spanish was sufficient enough to get the point across, so he adhered to my wishes, however, I'm pretty sure I'll be learning his name first.

All in all, it was a fun 30 minutes and they learned 3 notes, 2 beats and a chorus of the song.

Afterward, one of the mothers, seeing that I was teaching children for free, took it upon herself to announce that she is Christian.

I suppose because it's something some people with religion do; help the children with no pay.

I told her, "I'm Jewish."

She touched my arm as if I needed consoling, and said, "Oh, that's OK.  You're still doing it for the kids."

Well!

I'm really glad that's 'OK' and that I have your approval!

She told me her son plays the piano at his school, so it looks like I have the beginning of the band I need!

Slowly but surely, we'll make it.

And I'm positive that more will join us next week.

I need that bell.

i believe in my ability to change the world on a small scale with the work i do

joy.

Papi has been helping out with the dishes.

I am so grateful.

I have been so busy it hurts.

I'll turn him into Mr. Mom yet.

Maybe I'll have to get a little instructive on how to put away cutlery.

When he puts the utensils in the drawer, I open it up in the morning to find soup of forks, knives and spoons.

This way, that way, never in the proper piles.

It's torture for someone who is 'a little' O.C.D.

Anyway, I'm still happy, because it only takes me minutes to rearrange them into their allotted piles and start my breakfast.

Last night, I was up until 1 a.m. preparing for the kidlets.

I'm so excited to work with them today.

After seeing the kids at Dream Project perform their concert for well over 100 people last night, I am so pumped to get the village children up on a stage.

I dragged along Papi, who I thought would die of boredom, but I did it anyway.

When they were done and we were walking back to the car, he said he almost had tears in his eyes.

I said to him, "Do you understand now why I get get up 5 days a week at 6:45 and teach for FREE?"

Indeed, he understood.

I'll have it on the YouTube show in 2 weeks for you.

Papi has a GREAT idea for our little squirts!

I'm going to get them prepped and ready, then we'll take them to perform at all inclusive resorts.

They'll get an awesome meal!

Maybe I'll get their taxi paid for.

Damn.

I wish I had a bus!

I counted 40 children I'll be teaching.

I figure by X-Mas, when the rush of tourists come, we'll be ready!!!

Today, I'm starting with a Marc Anthony song:

It's funny, because I've never been a fan and never understood the big deal about him, but it is probably because I didn't understand Spanish.

But I'll tell you, thinking of these little beans singing the chorus, just like the choir of angels in the background of this song, I have chills.

The lyrics of the chorus sing:

I will laugh, I will dance

I live life

I'm going to enjoy laughing

And blammo!  I love the song.

I'll have the older ones sing the hard parts.

It's going to be so wonderful!

Can you tell I'm excited?

Anyway, I don't really have time to go on about it, because I have to prepare.

My Spanish has a lot of work to do.

Good g*d.

Perhaps learning songs will further my fluency as well?

And today's positive mantra is influenced by Mr. Anthony himself.

i will laugh, dance and enjoy life 

haggard.

I have so much to talk about, but somehow, I don't remember what I was going to tell you.

I do remember one item; tomorrow is the first day teaching the village children's choir.

I better have songs for them to sing, don't'cha think?  I haven't even started to prepare!!!

I've been a 'tad' busy, between Mr. Lumpy, driving to Santo Domingo, volunteering with Dream Project and everything it takes to be prepared for the above.

I'm exhausted, the dishes are piling up and the dogs are being neglected.

We haven't had the Housemaid in for a week, because we haven't been around for her allotted time.

Today is the first day in almost a week that I get to blog with my coffee.

These days, it's about running out the door with travel mug in hand, and waking up on the go while that coffee gets into my system on the road.

Showering?  Ain't nobody got time for dat!

I'm sure the locals are having lots to talk about with the stinky tattooed gringa they gossip about.

I'm pretty happy that the accident occurred 45 minutes away from here.

People in Nagua don't know us and I don't have to bow my head in shame in my own area.

Somehow, I have to look presentable for the children's concert today.

Those little beans at Dream Project are going to perform for a jazz band today.

I look forward to seeing the jazz band, as well as seeing them play for the pros.

The MusicMan is well connected and I'm very happy I've been able to be his assistant for the past few weeks.

The day before, I realized my Spanish has so far to go.

Sometimes, when I'm so tired that I can't even be bothered to shower, I just don't have the energy to study, or for that matter, REMEMBER Spanish.

Yesterday, I had a tough time at the school, and I had a tough time in my Spanish lesson last night.

Thinking that hard is difficult with limited energy!

Well, I might as well tell you about my corn.

I planted some seeds along the wall at the very front of the yard against the wall.

I didn't realized they're like banana trees, in that they're typically like a weed.

You plant in one area, and they spread out.

I have corn popping up in various areas of the yard!

I was wondering why Dominican Daddy wasn't plucking them from the ground, until I realized that they look identical to the other ones I planted.

I hope corn looks pretty, because they're invading our yard and it seems that they'll be spread out in no time.

But I know it wasn't corn I wanted to talk to you about.

Here I am, almost done my blog, and I still don't know what it was I was going to tell you.  It couldn't have been that exciting or I would have remembered right?

Wrong.

My poor injured brain has selective memory when I'm tired or stressed.  I could forget the most important of items.

I'm sure I'll remember later, when I'm in the middle of trying to understand someone's Spanish shpeel and have no idea what they just said, because I was daydreaming about some event of days past.

It will be another moment of me cocking my head, raising an eyebrow with a pained face, saying, "Que?"  That's my go to now for everything.

I was so happy to be able to get up and blog with coffee, thinking it would be a lovely writing session today, then I just sat here staring out at the ocean, watching and listening to waves crash, stunned.

If it weren't for the coffee, eggs, toast and lime infused water I was stuffing down my yak, that bewildered gaze probably would have been accompanied by me drooling all over the dogs that jump on my lap the moment I sit down at this table to write.

Ever have a donkey on your lap?

The Donkey honestly believes she's little.

Anyway, maybe tomorrow will be a little more informative and I'll remember the news I was going to share.

Until then, all you get is puppies, corn and one haggard femme.

i feel good about myself and the lessons i learn from life

rooster.

So early!

I think that people here don't have alarm clocks and they get up when the roosters sing.

I am so not used to this.

When we first got here, I had to be up early for the workers.

Now that I'm teaching music, the classes are early as well, but I'm going to have to be up early to accomplish everything that I've set out to do in a day anyway.

I am busy, and yesterday, Papi and I brought in the Pathetic Puppy to talk about getting her fixed.

While I was there, I asked about getting the AAAS to come to my village and sterilize the dogs here, and when the Canine Quarterback found out where I lived, she responded, "You're in the heartworm capital!!"

She ran back in and grabbed medication for all the dogs she could and came out saying, "You are now the outreach person for Las Canas."

Ok then!  I suppose I am!

It looks like I have another volunteering position.

Oh, I wanted to help here.

I got what I wanted.

Village dogs health.

Village children's choir.

Dream Project, where I have an 8 a.m. start.

Seriously.

That means I have to leave the house at 7:30, but have to get up at 6:45.

This may not mean a lot to you morning people who have been doing this for years, but I am not a morning person and haven't gotten up this early for any reason in a long time.

Even before the motorcycle accident, I worked a day job that ended at midnight.

So, this is hard!

But here's the good part: both times I've gone to work with the music teacher, he's been late.

I sit patiently with all the kids and wait.

We are all there.

Teacher is not.

But nobody is going to fire him, because it's just the way it is here in the Dominican Republic.

Dominican Time.

It's crazy!

To my advantage, when I was trying to get there to see the people, we had no power for 4.5 days, and I didn't get messages that asked me to be there for a certain day.

Then I didn't get phone calls, because the power outage killed my phone.

In Canada, I wouldn't have been considered for this position, because there is no way someone would want a tardy worker, or someone they couldn't contact.

But there I was, both days on time like the good Canadian I am, waiting for the person who's actually getting paid to show up.

Anyway, I had a great day teaching today.  I'm responsible for teaching 2 tiny girls piano.

Then when I was finished teaching today, the MusicMan wanted to play some music with me!

He is a great guitar player.

He would play guitar, I would sing; Police, Bob Marley, Beatles and more, then I played the jazz song on piano that he had given me to learn for the kids, while he would solo.

We played while the children would watch and move to the beat.

It was so much fun!  I have something to add to the New Life List.  Sit around and play music with my new friend.

He has all the contacts I need to start playing with others and for a music studio, albeit it's in the capitol.

I'll have to save that for when I'm ready to record, and for sure, I have enough to do for now.

I will have to get up early to get it all done.

Looks like I need a rooster.

i attract, welcome and accept talented and successful people to my team

up to my ears ...

Mango season.

It means you can't go 1 mile without seeing 2 mango stands.

It means you can't go 5 minutes without seeing someone eating one.

It means everywhere you go, you see people with mango on their faces, hands and clothes.

10 minutes ago, I was covered in mangoes.

I still have it all over my shirt, as I just finished making some mango juice.

I have eaten so many mangoes this week, that I'm pretty sure there will come a point that I'll get sick of them, however, that moment hasn't come yet.

Yesterday, I received bags of them from the people in the village.

I was signing up the kids to teach them choir and kept receiving more and more mangoes.

So many, that I would occasionally have to ask the kids to bring them to my house while I finished with the head count of how many kids to teach.

I started off with one of the sweet girls who gives me a gift almost every time I drive by.  She's 12.  She was my assistant.

She felt so proud of herself being my right arm.  I had her writing names and ages on a paper as she took on an authoritative stance, holding my paper and pen like a true pro.

She would hold my hand and ask me if I could go to the neighbouring village to visit her cousin who was just born this week.

As we went along, more children came to follow me through the village.

I'm not kidding when I tell you that I looked like the Pied Piper.

As I traversed the sand, rocks and roots, carefully stepping with my fragile balance, I had a parade of children following me, grabbing for my hand, grabbing for my clothes, gaining more and more little smiles to follow me after every house I visited.

It was interesting to see the dynamic of class in the village.

Some people have a shack made of tin or beach gathered wood, while others had concrete walls.  But everyone has a tin roof.  Some people had a fence so that nobody could see in their private space.

It made me giggle, because our house is considered the poorest of the rich gringos in houses along the beach.

We are the shack with a tin roof compared to the rest of the mansions surrounding us.

Anyway, I got a little nervous when every family signed up every child.

I think I'm in over my head.  I didn't realize there are so many children here.  Well, maybe I did, but you don't ever see them all at the same time.

I intended on only teaching ages 6-12, but as I went, more families were talking about their 3, 4 and 5 year olds.  Then as I got further, the teenagers begged me to do a class for them as well.

So here I am, with 3 classes every Saturday beginning on July 6th, with over 35 children in total.

I'll have to split them up into groups: 3-6, 7-11 and 12-16.

Oh boy.

Then I had families telling me they have children in the neighbouring villages who really have nothing and they begged me to start teaching them too.  There are 4 in total around us here.

I may have to start looking at some way to fund this in order to be able to teach 4 villages, each with 3 groups once a week.

As I went families gave me mangoes because they were grateful I'd be teaching their children.

I had mothers inviting me in for a visit and passing me their babies, children asking if they could come to the Hector-Brown Amusement Park today, and I had hugs along with the traditional Dominican kiss to the right cheek, even though they don't even know me.

Honestly, before signing children up I had a lot of mangoes.  People have dropped them off to me and glowed when they saw how happy I would get at a sack of mangoes here and a bag of mangoes there.

I love mangoes!

When we first moved here, I bought a mango tree in hopes that I may have mangoes this season.  I was so sad to see that it was just too young.

I thought I would have to buy them.

I don't think so.

And here I sit, with mango juice all over my shirt, and a freshly cleaned skin from mangoes that were smeared all over my face and hands.

Mango season.

Beautiful.

my success is contagious.  people like it, seek it and respect it