Put simply and simply put, it is easy to be a fire starter, but somewhat less easy to harness the fire, keep it stoked and productive, all the while ensuring it burns clean and true to its original goals. As an eager young-buck-Peace Corps volunteer I have started more than my fair share of fires and my butt is hot. But in a good way. I won't delve too deep into the specifics because frankly, I doubt you have the time, but here is a tiddle-bit to put you on the wobbly abouts the stats.
The water project is going at a medium pace overall, but it is medium in the average, globally medium pace if you will. Look locally and you will find one side of town working themselves to the bone to prepare anything and everything to within a microfiber of perfect for when the project comes. For this side I must choose my words carefully for what I say today will be done en junta tomorrow by noon thirty. For instance, I may have said in an off-the-cuff sort of way that when the time comes we may need to create a small plano/clearing for the future tank. Before I could say a whole lot of nothing and a bo-diddlin' hot-n-tot I was being encouraged to pasear donde va el tanque. To my chagrin, up there I saw, beaming back at me through the machete smoke, a clearing the size of big mama's britches with the stumps still oozing sappy tree-blood. Note to self: do nothing to trigger the machetes of Bolivar and the super-charged boys. Flip the record to the b-side and thou shalt see the stagnant side. Ad nauseum, at the risk of nausea, I have suggested we put a river rock on the floor of the existing tank to curb the chip-chip-chipping away by the little falling cascade that enters the tank from above. Under minor personal peril and risk to my health, I selected such a rock from the river, carried it through town up and up to the tank and placed it lovingly on top. It is about 18 inches from its goal. To this writing, there it remains. I love my people. I will see this project through to whatever end befits it. But, I'll be a gawl-darn, hootin' and hollerin' pick-a-nanny crumblin' cookies from my flea-ridden bearded toucan if I can't get these folks to take it down or step it up a notch, whichever the case may require.
(Reese's Peanut Butter Cup TM break)
Lauren has taken up an entertaining little hobby. Every time Carmencita, our tag-along campo dog, does something that annoys Lauren to the slightest degree, she releases a torrent of curses that would make even the nastiest of dirty-mouthed sailors wither and wilt like frozen daisies. Carmencita typically responds by doing the same thing again or a slightly different, more annoying thing. This starts the whole process over again. Good times!
But in all seriousness we are having a dog problem. Ask Matt or Heather Bergren or possibly the ever-vibrant Aimee Hartwell which word or phrase first comes to mind when they think about the dogs in San Juanito. I highly doubt it will be a word or phrase you want to use around your grandmother unless she is herself a dirty-mouthed sailor. Early September was full of lovely visits from our friends, well-timed to alleviate our sore backs and blistered hands and boost our spirits, but ill-timed to catch Carmencita in heat. To make a longish story shortish there was a whole heck of a lot of noise, more than a few near misses with the lust-crazed males and two chiva departures from our entrada that felt more like busting out of a theme park overrun by flesh-obsessed zombies than our typical "hop on the chiva, see you later" goodbyes. Our only plea to our poor guests was, "we SWEAR it isn't always THIS bad." Coming soon to a campo village near you... A spay-and-neuter clinic... FOR FREE! Just do it.
(Reese's Peanut Butter Cup TM break)
In the face of such adversity and heart-wrenching developments, what say ye, the strong and the faithful? How do we overcome? Well, for tonight we are just focusing on enjoying some Reese's Peanut Butter Cups TM that just HAPPENED to ACCIDENTALLY fall in our most recent package from Mama Shelly. I have just happened to accidentally buy some ice from the store and just happened to accidentally rig up a campo-cooler using a five-gallon bucket and two Thermarests TM as insulation. All this so we can enjoy the treats here in the hot campo as if they were being pulled out of a trick-or-treater's bag on a brisk, Colorado Halloween night. Honestly, probably the best train-rumblin' bulldog-snortin' quarter I have ever or will ever spend on ice in my po-dunk little life.
But in all seriousness people. The little things maintain one sane. A little bit of breeze. Guitar strummin'. Cute babies that don't cry. A good hard belly laugh. An especially potent song lyric on a fully charged up iPod. Fabric softener. As his visit wound down Matt, unbeknownst to him until now, struck me with the wisdom, "Wow. I felt like we got a lot done," he said reflecting on our five or so campo days. Gosh darn a hay penny's worth of whiskey on a rickshaw Matt, we DO get a lot done 'round here! Aimee's turn came next. She told Lauren, "Props to you guys, I had no idea it was this hard." I don't know if she is here reading this blog, but thanks Aimee! A little bit of empathy goes a long, long way. Here we are in fightin' the good fight and it's a trumpet-bender of a hoot-n-nanny and yet we are livin' and lovin' as if the dirt under our nails was pixie fly dust! Heather had an observation of equal profundity as she exclaimed ever-so-politely, "Um. I think there's a cricket on my food." And by gosh-to-howlin' at Jupiter's moons there was! Sorry again Heather.
