Nothing worth mentioning, anyway. Of late, I have been fighting off an infection (successfully), vicariously both traveling through Italy via photos posted daily by a cherished friend as well as enjoying a family gathering in Las Vegas to celebrate the marriage of a much-loved nephew, and reading. I just finished "Brunelleschi's Dome," about the incredible 15th century architectural achievement in constructing the world's (still) largest brick and mortar dome for Florence's iconic Santa Maria del Fiore basilica, timing perfectly with my friend's visit to Tuscany! And I am 3/4 through Jean Jacques Rousseau's "Confessions," begun at the urging of Ivan, whose literary and philosophical chops are beyond discussion. Rousseau's memoir is a study of an accomplished thinker, writer, composer, and producer of extraordinary volume, whose outward sophistication concealed a childishly romantic, unfulfilled, discouraged, and lonely man.
(Pause here to regard the elegant flight of a dozen pelicans, cruising the shallows in formation. It is a cloudy day, so the ocean looks white. And just beyond the veranda, two hermit crabs are humpty-dumptying their way across the path to the wall. And here comes rain, blessedly cool.)
A few days ago, a real adventure found its way to my doorstep, quite literally. It was late night, and I awoke to the sound of something falling to the floor in the sala. Probably Beth's cat, who comes and goes through the wrought-iron gates, I thought. Still, I got up and turned on the lights and went to investigate. I saw a little statuette on the floor, having fallen from a shadow box, and as I stepped forward to pick it up, I heard a shuffling sound, and an ominous crackling noise, like slow static electricity. Just inches away from my foot in a box of CDs, was a coiling brown-patterned snake. I immediately stepped back as soundlessly as possible and grabbed a flashlight from the kitchen, then headed out into the night to wake up Salvador. Brynn and the other dogs were all out sleeping in the yard, as usual, but they all woke up and followed me to the cuidador's (caretaker's) house. It took a few minutes to rouse him, but when I told him I had a serpiente en la casa, he grabbed a machete and came with me.
There was no sign of the snake when we entered the sala, but the flashlight beam shortly revealed it had coiled up behind a box. Salvador moved the box an inch or so, and aimed his machete. Again, that unsettling crackling noise. The machete came down a few times, and Salvador pronounced the snake dead, although the body and tail were writhing on the tiled floor. By now, the dogs were on the veranda, barking to be let in. I noticed the snake had a yellow underside, and a pattern of cream and orange-ish triangular shapes on the brown. As Salvador disposed of the still moving corpse, I immediately went to the internet to identify the beast. Almost immediately, it looked to be a fer-de-lance, about a meter in length, nocturnal, lives among humans, the right colors and pattern, yellow belly, and especially that crackling sound. The fer-de-lance makes that sound with its tail when it is agitated, perhaps as a warning, a la the rattlesnake. Did I mention that it is the most venomous snake in Nicaragua?
No more sleep that night, and I still look around for something, anything when I enter the sala. I gave Salvador 200 cordobas as a token of gratitude for dispatching the dangerous intruder. His eyes widened at the gift—a princely sum of almost $8. He suggested I allow him to give Brynn her monthly bath in exchange. Done and done.
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