another perfect day

it just struck me what a nice day this is. I have everything I want, with the exception of afew enemies I never asked for, or actually did anything to...but that small bitter taste is nowhere today. The daily alarm clock is the sun streaming into the bedroom, , never an unpleasant sensation as I wake up and stretch into dogs, cat, a beautiful man. I have delicious coffee, grown here, I have homemade granola and yogurt, fresh pineapple...fresh coconut water and a nibble of sweet meat from the nut. I wash the dried mud off my leg, a slobbery gift of last night from Rico, the sweet great dane I shared dinner with(and his owners.) How did I miss that big glob of goo last night? Off it comes, no problem. Oh, that means I have running water, indoor plumbing, electricity and hot water. I feed the dogs and cat, do laundry, pick seeds from my flower bed that I am saving to plant around the elementary school down the dirt road... the little things that start my day with a smile(yes, even doing laundry makes me smile.) All the while, the breeze blows. the sun shines, the clouds scatter across the sky like puff balls. Francisco is mowing a small part of the grass he missed yesterday, making a putting green. He and Eric go off in search of scavengable palos, lumber from the countryside... and I hop on the 4-wheeler and go to town for groceries. It is a beautiful ride, and I stop at a dominican bakery that also sells fresh chicken, and buy two fat birds, feet and all. One for me , one for Francisco's family. Then on to Supermercado #1, and buy fresh tomatoes, onions, peppers and carrots for tomorrows curry. I am tempted by the giant bright green avocados, but know Francisco will bring me more from our tree later this week. I avoid John the nasty German man who is now a persona nongrata, and Jose checks me out fast so I do not have to wait behind him in line. Now thats personal service! No time to dwell on anything unpleasant here! And I splurge on a cheap (325 pesos) Sangiovese that cannot be any worse than the Carlo Rossi I am forced to drink on occasion. One more stop at the french bakery for a bagette, and I am back on the highway , happy to be going home. I drop off the spare bird with Chela, Franciscos wife, and I am home to start cooking the chicken, hang out the laundry in the now stiffer breeze, and snack on a slice of bagette with homemade garlic mayo, fresh local cheese and tomato, and a dash of hot sauce. And I am not sure it gets any better than this. No, I am positive that this is the way to be spending my Saturday morning in the DR.