Back Again.

(Just a note to remember all pictures come at the end.)

Thanks to Hurricane Ike, we are back to our old habit of coming and going with a bit of drama. After Houston closed down, all Continental could do was put us on the next available flight—roughly a week later. Since Pat needed to be out of the US by Sept. 16, this posed a bit of a conundrum. In the end, Continental refunded (or said they would—haven’t actually seen the proof) 40% of our original tickets and we bought new ones, one-way, via LA and El Salvador, leaving US airspace around 1am on the 15th. After that, all went smoothly, and it was nice to actually arrive here in the daytime for once.

Our new digs are comparably luxurious, with water 24/7, and even hot showers (what they lovingly refer to as “suicide showers” here; a unit that attaches directly to the showerhead and is wired into the nearest electric source. We’ve seen them where the wires are poking out all over and wearing rubber-soled shoes is a must, but here they did it right, and we’ve yet to experience so much as a tingle.) We also have wireless internet, so I’m becoming spoiled rotten and have not set foot into any of my old haunts. We share cooking duties with the two women here, Carolyn, the owner, and Theresa, who had been hired to eventually run this place as a B&B, but is now heading back to Ontario instead. There are also four dogs, Theresa’s boxer-ridgeback Seda, and her dachshund Gimpie (yes, not a very P.C. name, but when she rescued him in Costa Rica his legs were trashed and he limped about for months. Now, he’s in fine health, but the name stuck.); and Carolyn’s two miniature Schnauzers, Misty and Abby; the latter has been in heat and driving poor neutered Gimpie mad with confused lust all week.

We stored our clothes at our old rental, Edwin’s father’s house, where they were either used as bedding for the resident mouse population, or consumed by mold. I must’ve done 5 loads of laundry when we got here, in their funky little machine, and the less acrid items were hung outside for days to lose their funky aromas. In the days since, we have found several scorpions of varying sizes in our room. The first was so tiny I thought it was a scorpion-shaped spot on the shower floor, barely bigger than my pinky fingernail. He was escorted down the drain. The next I found snuggled up in one of my bras, just as I was putting it into the washer. He was about the size of my thumb. Pat shook the trembling garment out over by the fence, into the neighbor’s plantain field. The last, however, left an impression. After a shower, I pulled on clean clothes and came out here to sit at the kitchen table and play with my newly installed Google Earth (I found both our houses here and in AK, distressing Pat considerably). After about an hour, I went into the bedroom to wake Pat up so he could get ready to go have dinner at a friend’s grand opening of a little café in Buenos Aires. As I was walking back to the computer, I felt something below the small of my back, like the tag from my trousers was rubbing. I slid my left hand in there to smooth it and was met with in intensely painful sting. I knew at once what it had to be, flew out of my pants (fortunately baggy khakis) and hopped around the kitchen screaming and clutching my throbbing finger—the middle one. Pat, Carolyn, and Theresa all came running, one getting ice, another shaking out my pants. I had briefly seen the brute when I first jumped out of my pants, and reckoned he was at least a foot long. Pat eventually found him, planning his next attack from beneath one of the cabinet doors. On closer inspection, he was closer to 3”…but reared up boldly, ready to take on Pat. And Pat, rather stomp him to defend my honor, gently scooped him up with a spatula and carried him outside, once more to the neighbor’s field.

Meanwhile, Theresa had given me a bag of ice, and closely examined my pants before declaring them safe for re-entry. My finger felt as though it were being held over an open flame while some bastard poked it with needles. And my lips had started to feel numb and tingly, convincing me of my imminent demise. I told Pat I loved him and asked him to continue SPROUT without me. He rolled his eyes and said we were late for dinner. We arrived at Jim’s place, where we found Edwin, Reyna, and the girls, and several other friends. Everyone had suggestions for me. “You need sugar!” “No, no, she needs rum!” “I heard lime juice helps…” in the end, Jim made me a drink of rum, Sprite, and lime, figuring it took all the suggestions into account. I can’t say if it helped, but along with the 400mgs of Ibuprofen, I was able to forget about the finger for minutes at a time. Reyna asked if Pat had killed it, but Edwin said, “No, I’ll bet he picked it up, called it a poor little thing (‘pobrecito!’), and let it go.” I said, “Well of course—what else would you expect.” So everyone gave Pat a hard time, but he defended his position, claiming there was no reason for an innocent creature to die simply to avenge his wife. Either way, I was already bitten, right? And to be honest, as painful as it was, I’m almost glad it happened, as it’s been one of my fears since we arrived, and now I both know what it’s like, and also have had a wake up call to always shake out my clothes *before* I put them on. (The fact that the little %&#! was nestled in my waistband for over an hour without stinging me is the real miracle—I shudder to imagine that sting at the base of my spine.)

Meanwhile, work is progressing out at the house. We’ve brought down Daniel, a young builder Pat worked with up at the Laguna, for the Belgian Vortex last spring. He is a skilled worker, but until the B.V. returns from Spain in December, he is just finding small jobs, and as he supports his mother, two brothers, a sister, a wife, and a child, really needs steadier work. So now he’s here, living out at our house, and getting things done. (I contracted with the neighbors to feed him, a solution I think he prefers after sharing several meals here with us—weird Gringo food…) The septic system is the current project, and should be done by the time we head to Scotland (we will be over there for 3 weeks, mid Oct.-early Nov. This will be Pat’s first trip ‘home’ in 21 years, and my first ever. Several years of hoarding air miles is making it possible, and we are excited, to say the least.), and upon our return, the rains should have lessened to the point we can get the water tank in, and at long last, we will have indoor plumbing.

A couple days after we returned, Edwin brought a chunk of his large extended clan out to our beach for the afternoon. The newest member of the family, Panchito, came too. Panchito is a red squirrel from Ometepe Island, a gift from a worker of Edwin’s to his daughters. He seems to be a very pleasant squirrel—never bites, rarely pees on you. He seems to have taken a liking to Pat, who has long been an ardent admirer of squirrels, and returns Panchito’s affection. Really, if Panchito hadn’t gnawed though half Pat's watch band one day, I’m sure we too would have a squirrel of our own. Instead, we still have Dogüi, our part-time dog. He is confused now as we’re not in the house we should be in, but every time we visit folks in the old neighborhood, he somehow hears about it and bounds up to us, nearly spastic with joy. Little bugger actually followed me on my bike the four miles out to our house the other day. He was so shagged we had to drive him home…

As for SPROUT, I have been looking for a small, cheap room to rent for an office, and also a bilingual assistant to help me out. We’ve already got about five students applying for next school year (begins in Jan.), without any propaganda. Once we return from Scotland, we’ll move into high gear, putting the word out and beginning interviews, etc. For all of you who made or are planning to make donations, I want to assure you that our claim of 95% of funds going directly to the students stands—all other costs, from the business cards, the fundraiser, the office, employees—is out-of-pocket, at least until I either write a successful grant or we get an insanely large and generous donation. And even then, we plan to keep operating expenses as low as we can—no director’s salary, additions to our house, Lear jets or bridges to nowhere; just the basics. That’s the point, right? As soon as I have something to report, I’ll get the newsletter up and running, complete with profiles of specific students, etc. Meantime, if there’s anyone out there who’s not seen the website yet, it’s www.sproutnicaragua.org

Thanks for reading!