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.

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.