I'm back....but gone.

What happens in a year? What keeps me from writing? No correlation there...but so many events since my last post, losses (friends, acquaintances, Max, money, stresses), gains (love, passion, a house, appreciations and connections, stresses), an ocean of waves and deep water, tides,  and deep black nights filled with stars, over and over again.
So many stories, so many wrinkles and gray hair, with blue dye to lift me to the clouds.
I fit right in here in Germany with my blue hair, on my second visit.
Such a contrast to my home in the Dominican Republic. I am entranced by the beauty and history and conflicted by the people and culture.
A part of my resistance to Germany , mostly over feelings about the Holocaust , has faded. Yet when I pass a German, in the store, walking in a park, on the street, anywhere, there is an aversion to eye contact, a reluctance to acknowledge another human being. Is this my imagination, when I smile and greet them "Hallo"? Is this the shame a country carries, or is it like being in New York City where no one can see or react? Maybe they are superior and this is their way. But it is palpable and strong.
Especially if they are on a bicycle and ring their bell, and will bump you out of the way.
The sternness and abrupt dismissal  circles around them like smoke, and they do like to smoke cigarettes, has a temperature and it is cold. Not seeing my  country of birth, sexual orientation, religion, political views, or total inability to speak or understand the German language there is a choice made to ignore me with downcast eyes and a grimace.
And these must be good people, despite the cigarettes. They are walking dogs, growing beautiful flowers and gardens, outside at any given moment for some sport, and polishing off beer to beat the band. Why do they have such a dour presence?
It seems to be a place with no warmth, no feeling. The buildings they live in, the history that surrounds them is taken for granted, and all relics of the past that can be replaced or refurbished are. There are no cool old Mercedes buggies scooting through traffic lights. Everyone drives a new car. The edifices may remain but all new replace the insides. Do I dig too deep to think there is an effort afoot to erase the past? My paranoia  and self absorption precede me.

Gratitud, Agradecimiento

Gratitude
It is what I am feeling. and looking for, wanting to show and share.
I am thankful to be in this space, in this country, in this time. Some I have had an active choice in, some things really do  just happen.We are not always in charge, and it is not necessary to take credit for each and every thing that bumps into us. Neither Victim nor Holy.
I do not see much gratitude in my peers. Dominicans are easy going and happy, but not particularly thankful. Acceptance is rampant. This is not gratitude, they are not thankful. They just put out their hand and if it s filled, or held they are happy, but not grateful. It is a joke that gringos are constantly saying 'I'm sorry', "Please', and 'Thank you'. These are all tied to feeling grateful, acknowledging the process to fill the hand, to hold it, to pull it up. Before coming here, those words were rote. Lip service. I mean them when I say them now but it has no affect on Dominicans to hear this. I am not sure that current society uses or listens to  these words anymore.
I feel something when they are said. While I have no expectation of hearing them, I see the words written overhead when they are not spoken, because I want that other person to feel something inside...  to care about what just transpired, even if it was a simple act. If the small things illicit no feeling, there is nothing but emptiness, waiting for something that never arrives. This has been my experience in trying to forge relationships, here in particular, but elsewhere as well. You have to be present and you have to feel something or this becomes another virtual set up for disappointment. Allowing for more intimate interaction,  moving  forward to connect, and to express... gratitude.
Not the universal emotion I once thought. I am careful to maintain who I am, and I know not to count the times I give and do not receive. It cannot be encouraged or taught by punishment or reward.
Like my supply of Fuck You's, it is not a never ending supply, so limiting my exposure to those empty spaces keeps me in a more expressive realm in which to navigate.
 I remain thankful for the things  around me, the clean air, clean (well mostly) water, the love I receive from the few who know who I am, the simplicity that a rural life brings so readily there is overflow.
Gratitud.

Irma you need to take a vacation

it is approximately 12 hours before the arrival of the strongest hurricane in the Caribbean, Irma, following closely behind Harvey who devastated Texas, and Jose is now following right behind Irma. Global warming? who knows.
Whatever it is , it is dangerous. The North Coast was originally slated to be less than 50 miles off the eye, and with sustained 160 mile winds, I worried... Last night Irma went just a shade North, giving us maybe 100 miles, and so while we are still in a strong 'red' imminent hurricane path, the storm surge is not as great. Of course the real characteristic of hurricanes is their total unpredictability, and that combined with human frailty(and stupidity) leads to devastation.
Close to midnight I went out and sat in the pool to cool off, watch the full moon, smell the puta de noche blooming heavy on still air. I watched amazing huge clouds, massive as continents, drift slowly over the moon. It felt as if they would crush me as they made their slow float by. No air moved, no leaves stirred, no noises except for crickets. It felt like being on another planet , devoid of human or animal life, just big heavy clouds passing by and spying on me. Watching me. Warning me.
Too late to run, you cannot get off the ride , cannot pull off to the side and wait for traffic to pass, you are in the thick of it. And there's always that fear that if you were to seek refuge, where ever you went would be worse than the spot you escaped from.
So here I sit, on an empty terrace, all plants and furniture and anything resembling a potential projectile has been removed to a hopefully safe place. Today in a panic I began stuffing, inside the house. I wondered what would happen if a window or wall blew out of the house and so indoor projectiles and valuables went in drawers, under beds, stuck in closets. I will be looking for them forever, and kicking myself for being so prepared. I made ice, for when the frig and freezer needs help,  the electric lines that have been draped through the flamboyant trees were threaded in pipe and buried in the road today, after scrounging for plastic pipe from neighbors, disconnected propane tanks, located candles, matches, flashlights, medical kit, begged my Haitian worker to stow more things I imagined to come sailing through windows and impaling me...I defrosted what will probably be the first stage of food that will have to be cooked if power is lost for long, and made two giant meals, dog food, banana bread. I am exhausted. And a bit lonely. I am not trying to prove anything, have given up on receiving cash rewards for Ms. Independencia....it just is what it is. I don't want to be rescued, but would not mind a friendly game of cards or backgammon, or being read to, slid a glass of wine across the open space.
Yesterday I walked to the beach and took photos along the way, thinking about how rustic and sweet this pueblo is, and hoping I will not find it too different on Friday morning.
There is little preparation by Dominicans and Haitians here. They have all seen the brief videos on the internet and FB, but it does not register as a reality here. They shake their heads at me and tell me that is tomorrow and Dios will protect them. It is not happening today, and no one prepares or anticipates the future. I watched the men pull in the fishing boats last night, just as always, no farther up the beach, no lines used, all the beach shacks still had tables and chairs scattered around, no sandbags,no panic, the only nervous energy was mine.

April is the Cruelest Month

who knows where that comes from? No one I know in my current life. I have no literary friends anymore...trying to explain my dog's name is like trying to reason with a Unicorn. not important, but a factor that haunts me a bit. I was always so smart and appreciated for it. Now it is like a candle in the wind. So April , the cruelest month(google it!) Most all the people I know, friends, acquaintances, everyone is sick , has been hurt or damaged or is dying more rapidly than expected. Or have asked me for money...The closest in love(Max) and proximity I am providing care.And have loaned all the available money I have. I am devastated emotionally and financially. Back to balancing on the head of a pin...something I thought would lessen with age and , oh laugh away, wisdom. I have made plans to travel, before I knew I would be loaning all my available cash. I am ready to leap, and I am hoping that the DR will remain in my physical world. And that I can resume distancing myself from everyone that is nursing off me, and I can stand up again. I know that part of this is my fault but not as much as I would like. Everyone is so needy. And if I build walls I may exclude the good people in my life, the ones I do know and the peripherals that are not after me or my wallet. And then there's family, blood, high school reunions, the never ending parties with superficial white people. I have taken to shutting myself off, turning my cell phone off(the only good thing) and declining the fishbowl invites. I hate to let go of the impetuous. the stepping out over the line. how much can i afford to lose? I have always gambled on my fellow man, especially here where their needs are more basic and raw, I can help. I do so want to retain my happiness, love for my neighbors, peace with my environment. Once lines are drawn, there is no erasing them, even in the sand they remain.And that is the joy of living here, while I am viewed as an endless supply of funds, I can give small amounts and change lives. On the walk home today two sweet little boys asked me for "money" and showed off their pigeon English. I am in running clothes, no place for money and I gave them a lecture about asking, but it is life everywhere. Even the rich whiteys have asked for money when they need it. I feel like the only person in the country who has worked out a plan , in spite of being dealt a shitty hand . Why can't others? Financially and Emotionally bereft. So, I say goodbye to old friends, my dear Max, who takes with him my past. And the door swings open .

Dating Dilemma

The rains have ceased, for the most part, the sun is out for now , the month of February disappeared. February, famous for ...Valentines Day. I have been in an unusual situation, as I enjoy this wonderful country but feel stranded without the company I desire. I tire of feeling the fifth wheel, solitary with the parties and social circle here, which are not only small, but petty. As I have broadened more into the Dominican population, I am confronted by the Gringo Prophecy. All gringos bring money, and lots of it , into every situation from the Dominican perspective. And while it is more a cultural premise that you use whatever you have each day, having a Gringo friend means a never ending supply and there is no shame or guilt in spending it all at once, because tomorrow there will be more. It is impossible to distinguish between having a companion and being a bank. Or a provider of visas, a route out of the DR...the wonderful term 'Sanky Panky' is used regularly here. So after a brief dip of the toe into the pond, I found I have the reputation of being cheap (and thus undesireable from the Dominican dating perspective.) In search of a companion, with the hopes I could find one willing to live here at least part time, I thought would be not too hard. I have met friends of friends, I have been on internet dating sites, I have put myself out there. In three years I have amassed a list of men, that I cannot write off to bad luck, a personality problem, or just plain being a shit magnet. Why am I bringing this up, why is this pertinent to living in the DR? After review of my experiences, I wonder if being a bank isn't so bad....or how hard it would be to help someone get a visa... I have finally developed a sense of humor and have the ability to identify the scammers quickly on the internet, but the pattern that has been established only lends itself to humor and time wasted. In order of appearance, I went from a frugal-frugal man, complete with a coin purse and the ability to only read menus from right to left, to a man who liked opera and plastic surgery who had a double life with another family hidden, to a week in Florida on a boat with a 60 year old man living off his Mother, to an alcoholic narcissistic chef who hates Americans, to a man sent to prison for possibly murdering his last girlfriend, to a man who came for a free vacation, the only gift he brought was a cock ring(educational for me, and not kept, touched, or used in any way) to the men I thankfully never met: who asked for thousands of dollars, to another sight unseen who had Islamic heritage and wanted to send me 3.5 million dollars from France, to a man stranded in Dubai with no money for food, to a man I talked to for six months, who had a heart attack and died.....this does not begin to cover the small one-time requests, for dirty pictures, for permission to dress in women's lingerie, and if I am a "squirter" , the list goes on. Shameful. Obscene. Ready to be made into a smash box office comedy. And along the way, each disappointment brings me more animals. I have gotten chickens, geese, ducks, 2 more dogs, 2 parrots.... I have gone over everything to see if I am being punished in some way, if some higher power is in tears from the comedy, but so far, the only laughter is mine. I vacillate between thinking about becoming a lesbian, or just accepting that I am going to be single...forever. I felt so disappointed in white people in general, being a wallet was on the table, but I cannot afford to take on a Dominican , and his entire family and be their support system, just to have someone to eat dinner with( and I would have to cook and clean up.) There is good news, I am talking to men again, encouraged , and feel there may be a way to find the needle in a haystack. And if I am lucky the light at the end of the tunnel is not a train, but someone who will embrace me, the Dominican culture, be kind and not want to wear my underwear.

If I had known I was going to live this long, I would have.....

Hello 2017. Who would have thunk it? No resolutions, no changes other than it is funny how life goes on, and we change here and there but remain basically the same. I hope to continue to take to the road inthe hopes of refining the good, and hiding the bad. It never really leaves us, be it misbegotten relationships, grief and just plain poor judgement. I step forward into month # five of rains that are a new addition to paradise, and thankful there was enough sun and dry(almost 2 weeks) to seal the roof post repairs. So dry I will be, and safe, and pasty white. I kept thinking the rains would lead me here, but the increase in rain and clouds is proportional to the internet, in a negative sense, so I have written so many things, in my head. And with my advancing memory deficit, they are quite gone. The funny thing about the rains, (discounting the bridges that have washed out, the roads that have been damaged, the houses that have been flooded and washed away, lives lost, crops devastated) is that in the midst of threatening clouds, rains, wind, the sun will pop out, a rainbow appears and the false hope begins, only to be dashed in a matter of moments. Sometimes it is torrential, sometimes soft, sometimes I can hear the ocean roar, sometimes the birds and frogs are yelling at me. My garden is growing as it never has, cisterns full, the geese and lone male duck(the Mrs. chose to fly the coop) are verbose and pleased, the pavement is clean and devoid of trash, there is obvious good that comes with rain, even when it is too much. It has been sad for the people here, who live according to how their parents and grandparents and back to the Tainos lived. There is no preparation for the future, and no one to call or help. They simply make the best of whatever the next day brings. I took someone for a drive and a comment was made(Ugly Americans are still ugly) about how many furniture stores there were out in the countryside...I did my best not to deliberately run into a water-filled ravine(which would only punish me in the long run) and noted that these were personal belongings (of every kind: mattresses, clothing, furniture, rugs, appliances..) laid out carefully along the road to dry. Yet there is no anger, or bitterness, or blame to be seen, just resolve to figure out how to meet the days needs, and do this together with family and neighbors. The New Year shows not much immediate promise: I watch the weather on the computer, as internet allows, and listen carefully to what the earth tells me, what my gut says, and take it day to day, as do my fellow Dominicans. They teach me daily about stress and use of my resources, as they awaken to the raw challenge of daily survival without a thought of their tomorrows. Nothing is in their power to change what the amazing planet bequeaths us all. And the beat goes on....

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.