and the bartender said, 'Get the fuck outta here...'

or something like that. Someone, well, ok the one reader I have here, just mentioned I had not posted since May and I was startled. Where have the past 5ive months gone? It is true, I could die here, and no one would know for months, maybe longer. It's the loneliness and no one loves me game I play when feeling really sorry for myself. But I do have a few people who might question my whereabouts, eventually. But that's my fault for living here in the DR, and living up to my genetic predisposition for not communicating well. I do try, really. I thought I met a person of extreme interest in April and fell off the earth, putting all my communication skills forward, and thus no more blogging about the DR, and my wonderful life here. All good things must come to an end, so I am back here, reconnected with my wonderful life in the DR. I take great pride in inserting myself here only as it relates to the DR, to the culture and environment I have chosen to exist in, and not have this be the diatribe of my life, or lack of it. So enough said about smartly not using the L word and sparing myself the last few months of time invested elsewhere.... Today is a special sad day and a good one to try some CPR here. Five years ago today my husband of twenty years died suddenly. And all my thanks go to him, for many things, but especially for getting me here, and pushing me to be strong and independent and happy here. So much that I stayed on, despite all the fingers pointing elsewhere. I remain in a place he knows. As an aside it was never the plan to stay here for more than a hurricane season. Today, I am clocking 7even and a half years now, approaching permanent residency, and captain-less. I remain loyal to where I live, continue to delve into the culture, the people, the landscape , and still find it excites me. I sit here and listen to the distant waves, birds, the occasional cow, a chicken, a moto going by and know these sounds to be comforting and far from the madding crowd. Time to take out the empties and fill the glass for happy hour. I am back and have a lot to say, don't go away. Here's to Rock, and the Dominican Republic and the few that still see light in me.

don't ask for the bill

I should apologize for publishing a personal rant, trying to make it a literary work. But this is all personal here, it is life in a foreign land, with limited support, and still working on the operator/observer/participant. It is Friday the 13th, two days before the country's major elective process: president and all offices are up for grabs in two days. Campaigning was to end today, and a 'dry' day Saturday and Sunday, election day. I have been warned off the roads, and advised not to go to the next town for fear of inability to pass through...due to parties, protests, not really sure. I am brought full circle to the Dominican culture and found at last some sense of balance in integrating into this rural, poor, uneducated section of a corrupt country.It is the Dominicans that are driving the burro ( while talking on a cell phone.) My friend was recently 'taken' by a young man, in need of money. Instead of asking he made up a story, cashed her check and never returned. And he will return, and pretend nothing has happened, and life will continue, with new constraints, until all is forgotten, until someone takes his place, or until another need turns into a crisis. It is a needy place, and everyone seeks assistance one way or another.Expecting thanks, or a change in behavior, thinking that this small thing will improve their circumstances is the betrayal of genuine generosity. It happens, the second you impose your cultural values on another person. Even if that person claims to be ready for an evolutionary change, we are stupid and unrealistically hopeful we will make the difference, especially by giving money. Money buys nothing in this process. Nor is it a sufficient bandaid to stop the hemorrhage. In an effort not to sound judgemental, or like an UA(Ugly American) when there is a need, it is usually not life threatening , as food, electricity, and water are available to the general population in accessible ways. It is a debt, a retraction of fea/credit. Most times a 'loan' is requested and we have all given until it hurts. Once the debt is satisfied, however, it is erased from memory, it has no value and is simply forgotten with not a thank you or I am sorry... And the biggest mistake, made 100% of the time is to give alittle more, to ensure that next time history does not repeat itself. I have watched the excess shared rapidly through family, community, friends and neighbors...there is an urgency to use it up right away. Nothing is ever saved for a rainy day, an accident, illness or birthday. It slips through each hand and disappears. And yet, there is no stress, no ulcers, no pepto bismal or xanax needed for relief. It is like their temper, once expressed there is a fresh new moment , and smile, handshake or a kiss(but again, never I am sorry , or thank you.) It slips out the atmosphere, follows the money and is gone like a wisp of smoke . So they remain happy, easy going, and confident that whatever the day brings they will . Living in the moment, its a cross between Buddism, and hedonism. Sorrow, guilt, or manipulation are unneccesary, and are rarely expressed. It is a way to be that frees you from the cancers that plague us, that eat away at relationships and your gut. Spend that last 80 pesos on a beer, share it with your neighbor and then see what is cooking in the kitchen next door....maybe help your neighbor work on his moto, or watch the comings and goings of people in the road. It is relaxing, comfortable, and easy. And when I am asked now, I still give, because they are not ready for the stress of life as I know it, and why would I try to change them? but it is cut in half, or quartered and they have something to build on, even if it is for a beer bottle of gasoline for their moto, or an aspirin tablet at the pharmacy. I think I am coming out ahead, and each time we touch, alittle of them rubs off on me, and alittle white stuff falls to the ground.

Grifter Update: another brick in the wall

I have made mention in the past, that care is required in dealing with the natural gravity that exists when you see a person of similar color/assumed culture,language, values while in a foreign country. Presumed guilty is the way to approach, another lesson re-learned. I recently revisited an isolated community in the DR, which I abandoned after two years. I did leave on the heels of a bad relationship, and saw my friends betraying me for my partner, and jumped ship, leaving no wake. Reconnecting with a few women I cared for seemed appropriate, especially as I realized their betrayal was more for a wallet than emotion. And that's where the grifter's aim, the wallet region. Going back was like being in a room full of felix the cat wall clocks. Tails and eyes, moving back and forth, back and forth, tick, tick, tick. I had come prepared with armor, as my first pass at coming back was asking to stay with a friend, and being told she would rent me a room in town. This is someone who has visited me, with an entourage of people, and always complains I do not spend time with her. So I stayed with more 'friends' in their empty B&B, empty of guests, food and drink. Unless it is rum and cigarettes, the cupboard is bare, everywhere. Someone is always spotting for a smoke, downing rum at all hours, stealing a lighter, blowing smoke in your face. And there is always rum, for them. And in going out to eat, there is always someone who "can't go" due to finances. My first night the woman who wanted to rent me a room , was loud in her declaration of not contributing to the sad person's meal... she owed her too much money. Guess who that leaves? I felt like the first steak in the butcher's window: fresh meat has arrived. There is a strange fluctuation of support and punishment amongst the clan. They will show up with food and cook a meal , or drop by with something, but there is always a price. Or have a fist fight in the street. They steal each others' customers, sue each other if business shows any signs of profitability, raise rents, evict, or take you on a snipe hunt. Or buy you a pack of cigarettes, offer to school your child(that man was a hero until he molested her...) They all jockey for the rider, but some will forever shovel shit and haul water. One woman's tale of one years' infidelity required a flow chart in order to keep up. I won't even go into the handy sex tool for your solving problems... These are the people, the friendly white faces, that we all run into here in dark-skinned places, where we are warned that the locals will skin you alive. There is rarely blood, or a trace of your wallet as you recover. And it is not just leaving broke, but seeing this repeat itself, as the eyes go back and forth, always searching...The cast changes clothes, partners, locations...no need for a dress rehearsal, no script to highlight, the show has no intermission. It is almost a relief to leave, before the curtain falls if you are lucky.And not to take any of that with you, although it sticks to you like a powder or a film, the disconnect from feeling anything but the daily scrounging. I find the Dominicans to not be sly and manipulative, They don't display spiteful behavior, always share what they have, and look out for each other. The Imported grifters rarely associate with locals, unless it is to use them for protection, or bargain basement services.

It is God's Will, sort of

Today Ona ate La Bibla, a Jehovah's Witness brochure I thought might help my Spanish. Not meant to be, and if anyone could use some religion, some real discipline(that's what the man told me Sunday, standing at my gate, trying to convince me of The Way)it is Ona. And maybe the chickens, hell, they will eat anything and need to get a more consistent approach to egg production. One egg one day, seven the next. But chickens and religion might be a stretch, even for the seemingly desperate(or maybe they were just hot and thirsty?) JWs. I thought about offering them water, and then was reminded of a child dying in the hospital because the parents would not permit a blood transfusion. Its all about discipline, sacrifice, and if it doesn't work out, there is always the here-after. I am surprised that Dominicans believe in this path. For a culture that lives for the moment, for the now, the day, why would you gamble on being paid back for your sacrifice when you are dead? It seems in-congruent, but the charisma must cross the cultural barrier. And what about birthdays? It is a Dominican practice to approach any and everyone you know on that special day for a gift, usually a beer. "it's my special" is yelled at Gringos. Prepare to purchase a beer, or have a donation ready. I am at a loss....and there seem to be a fair amount of JW Temples, big cement coliseums...packed with Dominicans? I guess if they are willing to walk up the hill to my house, there must be something to it. On Sundays, I usually attend a men's softball game in the next town, where I am affectionately known as the enfermera de Los Normans, team nurse. No one goes to church , that's for sure. And there has only been one team prayer at the beginning of a tournament, just for show I am sure. Otherwise, its play ball as usual, lots of beer during and afterwards, and only the occasional " A Dios", usually when someone sneezes.

It's a mixed bag

My goal is to write about being here, what I see, know, experience. But tamping down what I bring to the table, casting a blind eye to my new experiences and how they color where I am, what I see and experience, it all changes and falls into the bag. And it is a mixed bag of cultures, languages, faces and features. I was able to experience two different and new cultures this year, Norway and Peru, and they float in my pool and bump into this Island culture that continues to change and evolve. The town 20 minutes away, Luperon, has recently gotten electricity around the clock, twenty four hours per day. This is amazing for here, While most gringos have opted for backup and use invertors, regulators, solar panels, batteries and wind to supplement the lapses and fluctuations, the majority of the population exists within the parameters of 'luz de la calle', and very few actually pay for it. It is the joke that we Gringos subsidize the people, as our bills are in Gringo names are are significantly more than what residents do pay, when the bills are hand delivered each month. Right to your door, with a smile. Since Luperon has achieved full power status, the power here has been very inconsistent, highs, lows, and none and then the normal 6-8 hours a day here and there. The electrician is here today trying to help me sort out why some of my outlets and plugs mysteriously no longer work, and why my water pump has died. Sosa, my sweet electrician is performing an exorcism now I think, which is needed. With the crazy total of six bathrooms on the property, I have been bathing in a bucket( I do like the sound of that, but in reality, it ain't no fun) for two weeks now. Haven't washed clothes, or watered the garden. Water, electricity, such things that are totally taken for granted in the everyday map of directions... It was refreshing to be in the parts of Peru that live a similar lifestyle. My co-travelers lapped it up, such sympathy for the poor villagers, who also had satellite dishes and cell phones. Its nice when there is power, things light up, sound comes out of boxes, food cools and there is ice for your drinks. I am not so spoiled anymore by the missing of things that come and go here. I feel at ease when there is no internet(not happy mind you, but it is not a hardship anymore than praying the power comes back to keep my freezer on) and try to mimic my neighbors with their relaxed style. Its not that we don't care, we have the same basic love for convenience, but if it is not there today, maybe tomorrow...and if there is a meeting or an appointment, maybe someone will show, or maybe not. Maybe in a couple of hours, or maybe tomorrow. I rarely encounter the stress I still do experience, but I keep my stress for the sleepless nights, they play together with all the thoughts I keep for quiet times. And maybe tomorrow, mananana will have a breeze, a light on, a ripe papaya on the tree.