working the land

I've done a terrible job writing about the actual construction and transformation that's been going on at our land since we moved to the jungle. J spends backbreaking hours and days in the hot sun carefully planning, building, and creating our future home. While this doesn't do it justice, here are a few photos of our recently constructed earth bag structure. The whole thing was done by hand, the door and window frames were handmade, the bags will carefully filled with a mixture of sand and clay. J has spent countless, countless hours on this, not only in the building but in the art of learning how it's done.
While it looks simple, this took forever. Lots of dirt. We found pottery shards during the sifting which was pretty amazing. Earthbags are very heavy and the walls are thick. Thick walls means cooler temperatures. Natural respite from the heat. The round construction means it's not going anywhere. This will be here for a long, long time.
This may look like paint but it's actually a tint applied to the last coat of mud. Once the bags are done the whole building is covered w/ mud and then the final coat has some sort of magical mixture added to it. As you can see, J has spent an incredible amount of time on the details. It's been amazing to watch his passion and persistence unfold in so many ways. Every step of the process was looked at from a environmental lens, what materials are sustainable, what is the least harmful, etc. I am a particular fan of the window flare and the slate at the bottom which while beautiful, serves as a splash guard for those pesky thunderstorms.

We had to hire the roofing work out. Thatch is absolutely an art form, and the guys who did this spent several days cutting, weaving and then tying the leaves. It's an incredible process.

So there she is, our little jungle structure nestled on our little jungle property. We aren't planning to live in it right now for a number of reasons but we eventually might use it for guest lodging. We needed a practice structure before attempting to build any sort of living space and there were countless lessons learned. J's working on a different structure now that this one is finished, which will be the center of the garden. In the meantime we've planted over 50 trees, many of them fruit bearing.

It's a work in progress, but as it's progressed I've watched J become a botanist, an earth father, a laborer and a foreman. It's been a joy to watch his brain work in new ways and he's largely self-taught himself everything as he goes along. And there's no home depots here either. So he's been forced to think creatively and exercise his passion. It's not always easy but it's been amazing to watch. It's been an evolution of our partnership as well, in our former lives we both went off to the workplace, now so much more of our focus (at least when I'm not out of the country) is on meeting our basic daily needs and our land. We've both become more domesticated out of necessity. There is simply too much to do if we want to manage everything that needs to get done. But it feels more honest somehow, more deeply personal and less stressful.

This year has been a lot of things, ever since we took the leap and left our jobs and our lives and moved to the jungle but mainly it's been a year of discovery and of working things through.

thirty nine

i can still taste

the sweetness of that cabin

long ago.

the discovery and blood and cement and the yes

that lit the fire that brought us here.

you, the human that makes it all seem sane

the one who held on even when the road

the road was lonely and long

and good and full of flowers

that one night in the casino

and the one right after we brought our girl home (the year they finally won)

and we

we made this, this life this one is ours

through the mountains of oregon

and florence

and bangkok

and suchitoto

and bayon

and now the jungle

it is you, i cleave here and there and in ways quiet and loud

and sometimes teary and mostly, yes mostly with gratitude

i celebrate you.

happy birthday to j

benign

Benign.

Be Nine.  

Beenine.

More later but we just found out all will be well.

All is well.

passing go

Another long day sitting in hospital pre-op and post-op rooms, J is hanging in but today was painful, really painful and seeing him like this and seeing us like this is making me tired.  Simply put, the last few weeks have been hell around the plus two.  And the hot doctor didn't even look so hot.  I'm not sure why that is but am thinking it has to do with me.

But grace is everywhere, isn't it.  

It's in the nurse who took me aside and shared some coffee, in the man who lended a hand to a stranger when I'd lost my way, in the pharmacy tech who pulled some strings, to my parents and friends here and the ones in the jungle who keep checking in and of course, all of you.  It's in motion, all of it and in times like this you almost sit back and take stock of all the goodness swirling all around you and how if it wasn't for that you don't know how things would work and yet because of it they keep on.  

The world is a small and friendly place and those kidney stones, well lets just say those fuckers are toast. I've got them in a jar and if I wasn't so annoyed with them I might name them, perhaps Cheech and Chong or George and Dick, comedy duos high and low.

And now we wait.  We need the green light. The one that can set us free. 

rolling rolling rolling

We were easily the youngest people in the outpatient surgery room by a decade or more.  We got there early, surprised beyond belief we got in so soon. We expected it to take at least a week so when the call came in we jumped. Let's get this on.

The nurses love J.  While I am certainly aware of his loveability, I was a bit bemused to see how they flocked to him, somehow the story of the jungle had made the rounds and three or four different nurses came in to ask about our journey, the whys and hows and wheres.  The waiting took forever, three hours of IVs and tests and draws and then they wheeled him away for the procedure, the one where the doctor shot the straightest of everyone we've met so far, telling him it could very well be cancer but age and health play in our favor. The straightforwardness is refreshing even if I don't like the words. Another nurse was not so direct, she actually asked if J had to peepee which made me laugh uncontrollably, kind of like when Anderson Cooper made that joke about teabagging on CNN. 

After the procedure he was sick, a reaction to the medication that took awhile to subside.  The nurses came back and mothered him, two of them brought up faith and God and one even asked to pray for him, something that has been a rather common theme over the last week.  

You don't realize the faith in others till you are dealing with something like this and then it's all around you, it swirls all over you and you almost can't breathe but then you remember how entirely generous it is to be thought of by others, of how goodness is simply that. It's good and people's hearts are wide.

After four hours they decide we can leave, he's stabilized and it's time for us to go.  They bring us a wheelchair and I start to laugh. I sit in it and they tell me it's not for me and swat me on the head and I laugh again and load J in and spin a little wheelie. I can't help acting like this, it's like I refuse to take this seriously because if I do then it's more real and if I keep cracking jokes then it's like a field trip and not really our lives. I'm waiting for him to sign a form when the Jesus Nurse comes back and asks if we are looking forward to going back to the jungle. Yes, I say but if he's sick I guess we'll have to stay here for awhile and kick cancer's ass first. She looks at me and smiles you two have just been added to my prayer list and I smile back because I am thankful for so much kindness but I also want to know where was God a couple weeks ago, because that's when He really should've been on his game. I want to ask her but am afraid I'll sound insulting when I honestly don't mean to. So we leave the recovery room, J sitting in the chair and me pushing him and I lose a little control on a downslope but instead of trying to slow down I stood on the back of the chair and for awhile we glided, both of us in tandem hoping not to tip over.

day 49: backtracking

We've been walking around in a daze for two days, coming off the whirlwind of hospitals and airline reservations and packing. We don't want to go. We wander around the house bumping into each other alternating saying i don't want to go back with are you having any pain? We are both terrified he'll get another stone attack before we get on the plane or worse, while on the plane itself. The pain comes so fiercely, it's all he can do not to pass out. I am begging the gods and goddesses and the moon and the earth for it to lie dormant until we get to the states.

Medical issues aside I am a bit scared. Scared it's not been long enough for me to forget my foolish ways. Scared I'll hop right back on the laptop, a virtual junkie. Scared I'll find the shower and the laundry too comforting, the sheets too cool and crisp. The adjusting has taken some time and now we are throwing ourselves backwards and I wonder if we are strong enough to resist the sanitary charms.

Friends here have enveloped us, one is house and dog sitting, another is ensuring M can get registered for kindergarten, a process I was supposed to start next week. Two others are taking us on the long journey to the airport, in order to fly home we've had to surrender our car, a process that ensures that we won't be in legal trouble upon return. We take his ultrasound pictures and doctor papers, I show it to the customs person hoping it will mean they will give us a break and surprisingly enough it does, the man studies the papers and looks at us we understand your situation and can work with you he says and I smile in gratitude, on the verge of tears all day.

Friends invited us for dinner, cooking is the last thing you need to worry about they said and so we sat under a palapa eating a delicious meal as the sun set still in disbelief that we have to go. In less than two months we've had our fair share of struggles, I imagine our village friends must think of us as calamitous gringos, one thing after another seems to be getting in our way and causing others to lend a hand. There's been nothing routine about it, for the past six weeks we've been really living, awake and alive and each day both bright and exhausting as we figure our way. We've figured it and now hit some bumps and wonder how long we'll be derailed while knowing the only thing that truly matters is that J is okay. But we can't believe we are walking backwards after such a short while.

day 47: from good to bad to worse

Remember those kidney stones?  Well they reared their ugly head last night, J was in so much pain I actually thought he might die. We went to the "emergency room" at 11pm only to find there were no doctors on duty.  In fact, there were only two women on duty for the whole hospital.  So they medicate him (I could elaborate here but it was actually too scary to recount) and then we go home only for the medication to wear off.  We come back in the morning and things proceeded to get worse.  I don't think I've been this scared in a long time.

Long story short is the stones are one issue but there might be something worse underneath, something that caught us terribly by surprise and has us rather scared.  We've been advised by the doctor here that we need to go to the states and see a specialist and we need to go soon so after much debate and heartache and tears we are flying home in a couple days so we can make sure (we have to make sure we will make sure it will be fine it will be it must) that J is okay and to also deal with those nasty stones, something relegated to the side for the moment yet painful as hell.

So after 47 days we are unexpectedly going back but are leaving our house and our puppy and our car in good hands and will return as soon as we make sure J is okay.  Coming back home is the phrase I used and was surprised at it's ease. This has been an adventure from the beginning, as much as we want to understand why this is happening we can only feel thankful for friends ready to assist in the states and our new community here and for health insurance, that nasty bugger that everyone complains about until you really need it and then you realize how utterly grateful you are that it exists. 

Because last night scared me and it scared me bad.  

PS. If you are sending supplies for M's preschool but haven't yet shipped them please hold off till we know our return date.  If you've already shipped a package I've asked a friend here to intervene and hope she can pick them up in my absence.  I apologize for this, am not sure what else I can do. 

day 35: stoned

J woke up yesterday in terrible pain and we figured it was kidney stones since he's had them in the past. He actually tells me he needs to go to the hospital, an enormous first for him. So we figure out who can take M to school and we find out which hospital is the best and off we go for parts unknown. The hospital was pretty laid back, not a lot of bureacracy, you just check in and then tell someone what's wrong and they pick a doctor and you sit outside their door till they come out and then you sit on a bench here and then move to one over there, hang out here and then come over there. Everything is bare bones and folks just sort of congregate but all in all we had no complaints for how they cared for him or for how long it took.

All of it together only cost about $100 US but none of it will fix the problem, the laser machine he needs to break up the stones don't exist in this country, so it's either Cuba or Guatemala or of course, back to the States. So we'll see another MD tomorrow but chances are he'll have to leave for awhile to get this taken care of and thankfully our US insurance is still in effect. After getting pain medication he starts to muse that it might be kind of cool to go to Guatemala to get it fixed but I smack him on the head, pain or no that just seems dumb to go where you know no one versus going home where he'll have a place to stay and the language is the same. I suppose you can take the boy out of the adventure but you cannot take the adventure out of the boy. Besides that I'd totally pick Cuba but whatever, it's not my kidney.

So now that the crisis is managed I can breathe deeper, but for a few moments this morning I felt so entirely alone, that one false step can throw us under, that we really don't know what we are doing here at all and then things fall into place and it's okay again. If there is one thing that I keep learning here it's that things work themselves out, they do because they must and because life is easier than we think if we just take it one step at a time. Already the word of his illness is making the rounds of our little community, some non traditional healers are reaching out to us and J's interested in exploring that too so maybe we'll fix this sooner than we think. Like I said, things have a way of working themselves out, everywhere of course but lately it seems especially here.

M at school (the one looking at the camera). Aren't the uniforms cute? Every school here has some sort of uniform. Every school here is religious too, at least the public ones. Not as cute, but she's learning all sorts of new stuff, including about that guy who died on a cross and CAME BACK! He was bleeding everywhere and still CAME BACK! Nice. Thanks for that.

In other non medical related news, I had the chance to meet Jen this weekend. She and a group of friends were in the town near our village so we agreed to meet at a bar. I was running a bit late and had no way to contact her but as I drove through town I saw a woman on the street. I've never met her but she'd sent a picture and even in the dark I just knew it was her. So I'm yelling her name out the window and she sees me and jumps in the car and we head back to the bar. Pretty funny, given that if I'd not seen her I might have missed her altogether but I happened to find her in the street. Small country, this one. So we shared a beer and talked and she, because she is entirely amazing, actually lugged a whole bag of school supplies and even some presents for M. She has no idea how happy she made my child and about 20 others just through her simple kindness. It was so wonderful to meet her in person, and it makes me laugh that our first visitor is a blog friend but in actuality it makes perfect sense.

fathers and daughters

To my sweet M,

Today is Father's Day and we will be extra mindful to honor your father. You are still a little girl with a small understanding of the world so you don't realize how lucky you are, how amazing your father is. You don't see it yet but you will one day. Right now he's just your daddy, the expected other half of your family. The guy who is always here. But he's so much more.

He's always, always here for us. He puts his family first every single day. And he does it with so much integrity. He always tells you the truth, even if you don't like it. He doesn't evade the hard stuff. He makes time for you, a lot of time. He takes you on little adventures and strives to teach you about the world. You know how to recycle because of him, and you can identify all sorts of insects and reptiles and birds only because he takes the time to show you. He does this because he cares so deeply about the planet and he wants you to, too.

He loves you beyond measure. When you were born he started crying, my daughter, he kept saying, holding you close and his eyes, M. I'd never seen his eyes filled with that particular brand of wonder until he laid eyes on you. He loves us, baby girl. He loves us and loves you and is such a tremendous father every single day. You picked a really good father, my precious girl.

So today we'll honor him with what he likes best. A long walk in the woods and perhaps a little baseball on TV. It's magnificent in it's purity. Sort of like your dad. I am excited to watch your relationship grow as your awareness of him grows. As you learn about his beauty and what it means in terms of how you'll see the world and the men that will one day follow.

I love you,
Mama

knick knack paddywack

The weather is turning fabulous and we're taking a family day. We've got surprises planned and everything. I'm also thinking I'll take a couple days away from the computer, so if I'm not around it's not you, it's me. And besides it's gorgeous outside which is a good time to back away from the computer and play with my kid.

Celebrate the leap.

bandits and princesses

It's dreary here but the sun peeked through a bit through the cloudy grey so we decided to walk to the outdoor market and get some air. M, see, she needs this air because she's contrary these days, everything is no, no with stomping, wailing, no.

So we walk. We walk and at one point practically have to drag M, her contrariness revived by the cold air. We walk through the market and out the other side and down around the block on our way to an actual store for necessary sundries and ah, in search of a princess dress. M, see, she's been wanting a princess dress for the longest time and against my better judgment and her overbearing contrary we decided to see what we could find.

So as we head towards a big box we hear something loud. A roar of sorts. Jen. I stop and look back and barrelling over is a guy I know from the streets. He crosses over and walks right up, I can smell him as he approaches, scotch, I think. Maybe whiskey. Ah, I say quietly, to J. I like this guy but he's kind of crazy.

He reaches us and says hello and I introduce him to J. I know this guy, he says and he punches J on the arm and grabs his hand. You've brought him around before. I don't think so but I am glad you guys are finally meeting now. Ah, that musta been another guy. And laughs and punches J again. The men talk for a minute but I soon interrupt, where you staying where you been how are you you look too thin. He looks at J and rolls his eyes. She's always meddling and wanting to help when some people just want to talk but then turns to me and is serious for a minute and says I'm sick of the shit over there and I've been pretty sick too. I'm still taking medicine and trying to figure out a place. I remind him of an earlier conversation, a guy who can help, I know, he says, we've just lost track. I get his voicemail number and stick it in my pocket while he plays with M. She's contrary, I warn and say more quietly, she's been a pain in the ass all day. She's a kid, he says, it's all she's got.

What are you guys doing over here, he asks and I tell him feeling sheepish now about the princess dress, feeling utterly pedestrian talking about things we don't need to buy with a guy who sleeps outside. I notice he needs a shave and really has gotten thin. Ah, I should take J with me then and leave you to it, we could go shoot some pool. J laughs and probably thinks that sounds better than today has been so far too but would never say it out loud. Well, you guys take care, you know J, I've known your woman a long time, ten years or so, probably longer than you. She's good people but I bet you know that already. I smile and look away, in these moments both worlds collide and it's never quite comfortable, his poverty and the disparity of all of it challenges me, especially out in the open on a Saturday.

J smiles and says ten years, man, that's great. I'm glad I've finally gotten to meet you too. They lapse into the universal language of men, football picks and the big game next Sunday. He's got to go so he gives me a hug and shakes J's hand, rubs M's hair and hops back on his bike. Too late I remember we have a banana, one I brought along for M. He rides off and I say aimlessly we should have given him that banana, he's probably hungry and J nods and says ten years? Yep, I respond, but he went away for seven of them on some bullshit charge and I remind him of the story he's already heard. Seven, he says, and we fall silent for a minute until M reminds us where we are supposed to be going with a stamp of her foot.

native son

Baseball is an honorable sport. There are no cheerleaders, the uniforms are not sexy. The men don't gloat when they hit a home run, no prancing around in an end zone. They have honor, these men of baseball. It's a game that fathers teach their sons, that grandfathers share with their grandkids, not just the current, but that one time when.... The Buckners and the DiMaggios. The good and the bad. It's the spirit that moves men. Yes, it's become overly commercialized, stylized, branded. But that doesn't take away from the true pull of the game.

My own man of honor is a lifelong member of Red Sox Nation. We fell in love during baseball season, we had a baby during baseball season. J's love of the Sox is contagious, so I've fallen for them too. I know some of you know what I mean.

I remember 2003 when the Sox blew the playoffs. It was crushing. Heartwrenching. Awful. I remember at the time thinking it was better they lost; this curse is so important to the fans, the lore so critical. The Curse. If it went away it all might be lost. There could be no more whining. What would all of Boston do?

The Sox play the A's every year and we are at almost every game. We've driven to LA to see them play the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim (speaking of bad branding) too. I do this because it's fun, and because J's love is infectious. He loves this team. He knows this team. It's intimate and important, the beauty of baseball. It's part of his fabric.

We happened to be in Boston during the summer of 2004. I was 8 months pregnant at Fenway Park. We were sitting next to a guy who said this fucking team, they break your heart, they lift you up and then smash you to the ground. This fucking team. It was a defining moment, a universal truth. I knew exactly what he meant.

J is from Southie but you'd never know it. His mom and brother are the stereotypes, the language and attitudes, the wicked pissahs, the r's when there shouldn't be and never when they should. You'd never know J was from southie if it wasn't for the Sox.

M was born in September of 2004. Her birth coincided with the A's/Sox series; tickets that were bought after we knew my due date. He missed two games but caught the third. The Sox won the World Series that year, and we have it on video, J crying, the phone ringing off the hook, him holding up our tiny baby girl and telling her that his dream just came true. A lifetime of agony reconciled, batter up, run in, game over.

It's baseball season again; so once again I get to decide who is cute (Varitek) and who is a smuck (it's always Manny), I get to watch J throw himself headlong into his joy and relive his youth. If there is ever a time there is a smattering of southie in him, it's when he's yelling at the Sox, his wayward family who doesn't always live up to their potential.

a safe place to kill oneself

We are fortunate that we both work in non-profit, with human suffering. If only because when one of us is wounded, the other can very much understand why it hurts.

A long time client of J's died while we were out of the country. He learned of her death this week and has been deeply saddened. It's not often I see him like this - he sees a lot in the course of his work, and generally is able to reconcile his role in it, but sometimes, it's too much.

And sometimes it should be. A came to J's place years ago with a long and horrible history of sexual abuse, psychiatric disorders and anorexia. It was the latter, no doubt fueled by the former, that finally killed her.

Months ago we sat outside on our porch and debated the treatment decision J needed to make. A was in and out of his facility and others for a number of years. It had become increasingly evident that all of her dependence on the system itself was hurting more than it was helping. They ended up making the difficult decision of denying services to A, and J was to be the one to tell her. I remember him telling me that he would do this, that he knew she was going to die one day, that their decision might facilitate that, and his team struggled long and hard with it and still knew it was the only therapeutic decision that could be made. I am summarizing a lot of conversations - the situation/decision was much more complicated and full of history than I can do justice here. Suffice to say it was a long and winding road.

He sat with her one last time and explained why they had made the decision they had, and typical of J, tried yet again to reach her on a deeper level. He told me he said A, let's cut the bullshit. From one soul to another, from someone who cares for you very much, you have to believe all we are giving you is a safe place to kill yourself. And that is not enough. If there is anything I can do, it would be to make you believe that this world is a beautiful place, that you have so much left to see, to feel, to do, that life is so much more than how you are living it. That you can choose something different.

A listened. She made the decision to check herself into residential treatment the next day, and she never left. She made terrific strides in the past few months, gained some weight, seemed to be improving. But it was already too late. A heart can only take so much.

I asked J last night if he feels responsible for her death. He said he didn't, and I almost believe him. Because while I know he wasn't responsible, I also know how hard these decisions are and how hard it is to watch someone's path unfold, even if you saw it coming.

The problem is we are still idealistic enough to believe that we can help people. And when we don't, it's hard not to wear that around our hearts.

I can't believe it's almost time for our third Just Post Roundtable. If you have a post of yours or one you've appreciated that was written by someone else, please send them my way (to girlplustwo (at) yahoo(dot) com) by March 8th and I'll send you the button. Go on. It's good for the soul.

We'll link all posts and anyone who refers one (or more) in our Just Post Roundtable on the 10th. If this is new to you, please feel free to check it out here.

Just plain lucky

Occasionally I hear J tell M how lucky she is. And when I hear him saying that, I know he is speaking way more about himself and much less about her.

J's birthmom was an immigrant who was in the US temporarily. She got pregnant and gave him up at birth. J spent the first six months of his life in an orphanage/foster care system until he was adopted.

J's adoptive parents weren't in a position to adopt. His father was already engaged in an affair, his mom was young and angry and scared. We think they adopted J with the goal of some sort of reconciliation, but things went sideways almost immediately.

Soon after J was brought home his parents split up. J was shuffled between his now single mom, his dad, and grandparents. As he grew into kindergarten years, folks seemed to lose track of him. He'd spend an entire Saturday sitting on the curb outside his house waiting for a dad who never showed up. His house caught fire once - and his mom and grandparents escaped the burning building, and in the confusion had forgotten about him. He was left in that burning building until a firefighter found him and rescued him. He remembers the oh, that's right, we forgot J when he was carried out. An afterthought at best.

As J grew older he grew into himself - he travelled the world and moved around the country, from working in an Alaskan fish farm to jumping freight trains. He spent a year in India. He was always on the move.

When we met he carried still his wounds with him. He'd always felt motherless, and being the tender soul that he is, was deeply affected by that. After a while we engaged in a bit of a search, obtained his adoption file and learned more about his birth mom. We chased some dead ends and came to the conclusion that finding someone in South America was a task that we weren't up to. We might revisit that in the future, but for now we've put that on hold.

M was the first flesh and blood relative J has ever met. I remember vividly the moment she was born and he was able to gather her in his arms and utter the words "my daughter". I know and I do not know what that means to him. I know that when he sees her being loved unconditionally and passionately it makes up for the fact that he was not. I know that he feels deep and unabashed pride in the ability to grow and encourage her young life.

And I know it's no mistake that she looks exactly like him in every possible way.


Don't forget our second Just Post Roundtable is around the corner. If you have a post of yours or one you've appreciated that was written by someone else, please send them my way (to girlplustwo (at) yahoo(dot) com) by February 8th and I'll send you the button.

We'll link all posts and anyone who refers one (or more) in our Just Post Roundtable on the 10th. If this is new to you, please feel free to check it out here.