it seems rather depressing

Sometimes, though, things go all right. After a few more interesting “come back laters” at the orphanage, we had the right conversation with the right person and the director’s wife decided to let us come paint their art building. We had to buy the paint, of course, but it got us in the door.

It truly is lovely to be back here – to begin to see this area through adult eyes. The people are wonderful, and the kids are a joy to be around. My Spanish comes back in fits and starts. My grammar sucks the camel’s tail and I’ve got huge gaping holes in my vocabulary, but people are generous with whiteys who try to speak their language and I’ve always had an ear for the accent, so most folks say I speak really well.

Anya and I have just returned from spending a day over at a friend’s place, someone I grew up with who with her husband is sort of taking over for her parents at a technical training school they’ve run for a million zillion years. We spent the afternoon relaxing by and in the lake. I tell you what, folks, there’s no place like it – tropical paradise with a capital “YES!”

We canoed around through pods of freshwater dolphins, sun-baked on a raft out about thirty feet from shore and had some restorative practice throwing a hand-net. I caught four boca-chicos (little fish with big mouths, called “small mouths” for laughs), which were promptly consumed by my friend’s dogs.

Last night we stayed up watching the local kids playing volleyball (they’re tiny, but tough) and then ended up playing soccer from about ten o’clock to midnight on the concrete field/court. The local boys are good, I tell you, but I managed to save a lot of energy by being fairly lazy so that when they were plumb tuckered out by the end I squeaked in a few goals.

This morning we strolled over to the local church where Jairo, a dude who used to work at the mechanical shop for the center where I was reared and raised, spoke with poise and dignity about stuff.

For lunch some other folks from the old days came over and we ate mounds of food, played ping-pong and chased an iguana up a mango tree. It’s good to be home. So good, in fact, that I’ve got none of my usual ranting and raving to do. I’m happy as a jay-bird these days, even though I’ve got a cold and I’m sweating like an inebriated dog in a sauna. I suppose later, if you stick with me, I may have something to whine about. For now, just hop on the love train.