We were up at 4:30 am because the older two girls were leaving at 5 for their school trip. The school went to a waterpark and amusement park a few hours away. Tuks aren’t running at that hour, so I walked the girls out to the main road and one of the teachers picked them up. Everyone was pumped to go.
Cali did this same trip a few weeks ago with her school, except she kept telling us she was going to El Salvador. Puzzling since El Salvador and Xocomil don’t sound anything alike. My North American logic was telling me they couldn’t be going out of the country for a school trip, but she was convinced they were. As I stood in front of the Catholic Church in the 5am light along with the other parents, watching the bus pull away, I had a brief moment of panic. What if she was right and they were taking them across the border deep(er) into Central America where an elaborate human trafficing plan was in play, and despite putting up a million posters all over Central and South America, I never saw my baby again. Turns out they simply went to the waterpark and came home in the evening like a normal school trip, whew.
After the older two left, getting Cali ready at 6:30 didn’t seem so early. I was having breakfast with a girlfriend by 7:30 and by 9:00 felt like I’d already had a day. I went down to the lake and meditated with a friend. We were sitting on a wall right on the edge, so we could hear the water lapping against the wall, it was soothing.
After that I walked to get some groceries and came home and tried to get the waterheater fixed. The gardener tried to help me by putting in a new battery which controls the pilot light. I thought it was fixed, but when I went up to have a shower, the water wasn’t warm. I’ll tackle that issue again tomorrow and then probably the day after that.
In the afternoon I decided to hike up the mountain, the same one I did with my friend on Mother’s Day, only this time not in flip flops. I took puppy loco with me. He is ten months old and still full of lots of puppy energy. It took thirty minutes to get to the mountain. At the base there are many rectangular fields of onions, in different stages of growth. Today many of the fields were being harvested. They were being harvested by six separate families, complete with grandmas, parents, kids. Cross-generational harvesting. Each family had a little tent or tarp to put the onions under once then were harvested. They were tied into large bundles and everyone in the family was helping. Some families had music playing, food, a regular harvesting event.
As we started up the mountain, it began to drizzle. The air smelled of onions and rain–uniquely delicious.
The doggie hadn’t been walked without a leash before. I was taking my chances, but I wanted him to learn how to walk off a leash. The minute I let him off, he vanished. I called and called him. Nothing. How was I going to tell my daughter I lost her dog on the mountain, but not to worry because maybe he would learn to live on onions. Then when I was about to give up, he pops his cute little curly face out from a bush with leaves stuck on his cheeks. Couldn’t have been happier. Even though he would disappear on the path, he learned not to go to far ahead. He bounds like a deer, very light on his feet, like a Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom gazelle. I would hear him behind me, look to the side as he is sailing through the air, practically suspended in time. If I could slow-mo him as he soared through the air, I’ll bet he was winking. Then he would land softly and bound off again. He would race along the little paths, a blissful brown blur. That little doggie was in heaven with the smells, the nature, the freedom.
When we got to the top I sat on a rock to have a little quiet time. Meanwhile he was spazzing out in pure unadulterated joy, bounding all around the mountain top, racing among the corn and beans that are planted there. At one point he raced up to me full speed and then stopped right next to me and sat there, as if he was taking a moment to keep me company. Bizarre. He stopped to listen. Below you could hear the promo circus pickup truck doing his rounds with the loud speaker, you could hear the families down below harvesting in the onion fields, you could hear the bulldozers working in the riverbed below. Mostly he was enjoying the sound of the birds, so many of them in close proximity. He jumped off the rock trying to catch some type of large bird of prey with an impressive wingspan. I was hoping the bird didn’t want puppy for dinner.
The doggie and I sat on the rock for about fifteen minutes and then went back down. We met an indigenous family on the way, a mom, dad, and two daughters. I could barely get myself up the mountain carrying a cell phone, while they were carrying bushels of onions on their heads, wearing sandals with a low heel. No biggie to them.
I picked up a big stick for the walk home. On the way to the mountain we passed many stray dogs. Normally when I’m alone this isn’t an issue, but when walking a male dog, it’s a different story passing through the strays and their territories. At one point I picked up our dog and flung him over my shoulder because this big black dog was trying to attack him. I tried the standard trick of pretending to pick up a rock to throw at him, but it’s hard to do that when you have a terrified dog necklace holding on with his claws. Gives “choker” a whole new meaning. Yes, once again I provided ample amusement to the indigenous women who were watching. Those crazy, crazy gringos or at least that one. On the way home I had a big stick. Some of the dogs attack from the front directly, but most of them will try to attack from behind, nipping at your heels when you are more vulnerable. My tactic was to pick up the dog (football style since I’d learned that around the neck isn’t ideal), walk backwards, and swing the big stick like a pendulum. On the way home we had trouble with six wild ones. Not fun. I may have to take a tuk from the bridge so I don’t have to deal with the dogs, or learn how to use nunchucks. I wonder if a squirt gun would work. Kier thinks the street dogs smell a pampered, well-fed dog and it just makes them mad. Fair enough.
It was a quiet evening. Big difference having only one kid when you’re used to three. With one kid there are no arguments to referee, no debates about what to have for dinner, no arguing over who gets to hold the dog, what movie we are going to watch, or which sister’s laptop she is going to use. Peaceful indeed, but I miss all the lively interactions three girls bring. There is never a quiet or dull moment, lots of talking, singing, music, just all around noisy living. That’s what I’m used to, so two days of peacefulness will be plenty.
Cali’s frog blog: My sisters are away for two days. I sort of, kind of like being here by myself with just mom. There is no fighting and I can always get my way. So I watched iCarly on tv and didn’t have to argue with anyone, and I had chicken nuggets for supper. No one was bugging me to share my popcorn, I ate it all. But it is maybe too quiet and I don’t like that very much. I also need my sister to help me buy more games on iTunes for my iPod, and I like it when Madi makes me food. I guess I actually like having sisters. That’s not fun. Tomorrow is Friday and it makes me think of that Down with Webster song called, “Weekend’s on, go get your weekend on!” When my sisters are gone I can sing any song I want for as long as I want and they won’t tell me to switch songs or stop singing! But I will still be glad when they get back tomorrow. P.S. I love you all.