Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow

Creeps! Los hombres quien siempre dicen "manaña." (Those guys who always say "tomorrow.")
10 a.m. With fingers tightly crossed, I sit at my desk and hear the zap of the welding torch as the final bit -- the second gate -- comes together. Will today be the day the dogs finally run free?

Donny -- Doni?- preferred to sleep during today's lunch break. He's 16, and working hard.

Yesterday, Wednesday, I had to rise early and grab a passing bus to Managua to meet Noel and go to Inmigración. I was to have my photo taken for the cedula, the credit card-sized ID for a foreign resident. The place was a zoo; we went from standing in one line to another -- when my name was finally called for the photo, I was told to go to the cashier to pay 5,900 cordobas. Another long line, but the fee was less than expected, about $207. Then back to the seats to wait, and finally, I was seated for my photo. The photo was actually taken about 20 minutes later, but Noel and I did not complain. The offices were air-conditioned, unlike the waiting area, which was hot and humid, thanks to an overnight rain. Something was being argued about, or was lost, or the staff were merely gossiping in hushed tones, but eventually I was told to adjust my position, and the camera flashed. Then my thumb prints were taken by a scanner, and my signature was preserved for posterity. They held on to my passport, rechecked my new address, and sent us out to the hellishly hot waiting area.

I surrendered to the allure of the Eskimo kiosk (in Spanish, it is pronounced es-KEE-mo) and bought a coconut ice cream cone, which was heavenly. After about a half-hour, my name was called and we re-entered the air conditioning, half expecting another delay, and... there it was. My long-sought, hard-won cedula, the prized resident visa, good for five years, with a photo of my aging face and my new address. I think I am in this for the long haul now. I feel like a Nicaraguan.

When I returned home, the fence crew were just putting away their tools and the jefe explained that he needed another $20 to buy some small things, including metal saw discs to complete the job. After shelling out $1300 for the "Godzilla Fence," what's another twenty bucks? I dubbed the fence thusly because it was needed only to keep two small dogs from running away and getting into trouble. A nuclear monster would have his work cut out for him if he foolishly decided to stomp on my house.

My house. I feel lonely here -- a temporary condition, I trust. I have just lived for nine months in somebody else's house, with near constant company. I longed for solitude, and, at least in the evenings, here, I have had it. Maria Jose comes tomorrow to clean, and her husband Jonathan is going to help me put up my shelves. Progress!

P.S. 6 p.m.
The fence is complete! Pix prove it:

Donny painting the gate to prevent rust.

I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts...

A visitor from the east on the other side of the fence.

Two happy doggies checking out the boundaries.

What a Long Strange Slog It's Been

Day two in the new place, not including moving day, and it is abundantly clear that I need shelves. Many shelves. I did bring a few that require drilling into concrete walls, so I shall be seeking a local handy-person to help me with that. But a bookcase or two or six would be helpful, too.

Here is what the sala looks like at this moment, minus me sitting in the rocker at the desk. That corner where the windows meet is the best spot in the house for receiving internet via a phone hotspot, which friend Parzi set up temporarily yesterday. The local satellite companies want nothing to do with me, and it is not my breath. This house is in a rather dead zone, apparently. I was pretty panicked when I thought perhaps I would be living offline. Aughhhhhh....

Anyway, if anyone  knows Clarice Peterson in Johnstown, tell her that I have given her framed India fabric painting pride of place in the sala. It dominates the room, as you can see, and I hope to put a simple sofa beneath it soon. And those boxes are not going anywhere soon, as they are filled with books and tchotchkes for putting on shelves.

Here is the view to the left of my desk, the main and only door to the house. And Brynn.

The man who made my desk was given a design by Stefan for a sideboard affair to go under the wall cabinet in the kitchen. The damned thing looks exactly like the computer printout of the design, and is simply lovely. Julio Aragon is a wonderful carpenter, and I believe he may build bookcases...
The photo is "adjusted" to compensate for the intense shadows and sun at this time of day.

It sits to the right of the fridge.

And Stefan had the kitchen counters retiled in a sort of rustic grey ceramic. I love it.

And the only other photo-worthy room is the comedor, just off the kitchen. This is the raw rustic table I bought with two benches made to order. The wood is so dramatic.

Frustratingly, the solid gold fence for the dogs is still incomplete. The jefe of the fence crew has told me completion is "mañana" so many times in the past three weeks that I have lost all hope of happy unleashed dogs ever again. The only up side to having the yard unsecured is that an old horse has been wandering into the yard and munching the grass. His front legs are not in very good shape, but he tries to run away when we come out of the house. I appreciate the manure he so thoughtfully leaves behind. This soil needs work.

Dinner for Eight? Not a Problem..

Yesterday, I visited the new house to check on progress. The place is still an unholy mess, fencing materials piled up in the sala. The kitchen is much improved, with just a few finishing touches to go in the grouting department, and Byron's father is going to repaint where needed. He apparently did the repaint of the whole house before it entered the rental market. He is Fernando. Byron, you may recall is the part-time gardener, currently working for Stefan on the fencing crew.

On my way to the house, after the bus from La Boquita, I walked past the Diriamba market to a little furniture shop (Muebles Tomy) where, on Tuesday, I had seen a plain long table of gorgeous yellow and russet brown tropical wood. It had no matching chairs, and I asked Tomy (Tomasa, the proprietress) about a sample to see if I could order some to go with the table. Well, the sample did not match, and was expensive. The table was 1700 cordobas, or not quite $60. So I suggested benches, which were immediately promised for Friday delivery with the table for about $35 apiece. Tomy threw in a couple of end stools, which will allow me to seat eight for dinner! The stools are rusticity itself, believe me, but that was the desired effect, so I ain't complaining. I rode to the new house in the delivery truck with Tomy's husband Francisco. We stopped along the way to buy watermelons.

I'll do a "House Beautiful" spread after the place is in some kind of order. (Stop grumbling, Mary Mary. "I wanna see what it looks like...grrrrr.")

Please Help Me, I'm Moving...

Proud renter that I am of two -- count 'em - two houses, at the moment, I am daily exhausted by the sense of belonging nowhere. My present address in La Boquita is packed into boxes previously used in my initial escape from US reality. They were flattened and stored, lo, these past nine months. and again contain most of my earthly possessions. Plus two beds, a desk, an armoire, a few tables and two rocking chairs. Salvador, the cuidador here, has promised that his friend with a truck will be here on the 23rd to move boxes and muebles (furniture) to the new house. My sixty-fifth birthday, incidentally, is moving day.

My next address is a mess at the moment. Piles of gravel, stacks of galvanized pipes and rolls of chain link fencing adorn the porch and interior living room. These materials are the components of the 60-meter fence I need to contain the dogs. A crew of four are working to secure the vertical supports in cement, and will weld the chain link fence to the pipes in between the verticals. It will be a fence to contain Godzillla. I tried to explain pound-in metal bars and woven fencing that I had in my old yard, which cost about $60 and lasted at least 12 years. But here, they use steel pipes, cement, and chain link, which has cost me over $1,000. So far.

My sentimental soul is clinging to each successive ocean sunset as moving day approaches. Here is tonight's display:

I sit with the dogs in the Grecian temple called the gazebo and we all watch the sun go down. Little Susie is growing like a weed, and has an engaging personality. She and Brynn play together well, and I'm eager to see how they like the new place.

Words cannot express my appreciation for the brothers Uriarte and how well they have seen to my many and varied needs over the past few weeks. Stefan designed the tile plan for my kitchen and the garden fence, and handled the water tank purchase and installation. Parzi took me shopping for necessities for the new place, besides treating me to a truly wonderful ceviche dinner of black clams that was heavenly!!! I really love these young guys, and if I could lose forty years, I'd jump both sets of excellent bones!

Reading James Joyce -- Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man -- I have never found my own frustration with the way Catholicism was jammed down my throat articulated in such a gut-wrenching account of shame and hypocrisy. I wish someone had told me to read this book before Ulysses -- now I will have to re-read the masterpiece and, presumably, will derive more satisfaction the second time around. I have also been reading Virginia Woolf. I love her reviews of books and authors -- such wit and depth of knowledge. I hope to receive enough Amazon cash for my upcoming birthday to order her five volumes of diaries. (Which are not on Kindle, hint hint.)

I am of two minds -- ambivalent (thank you, Sawyer) --about the next two weeks. I have loved living by the sea. I cannot begin to imagine how much I will miss the thrum of the waves and the muted rumbles of the breaking waves. I have lived by the angle of the sun, and have greedily slurped up every sunset for the past nine months. My new home holds the promise of cooler climes, a vigorous salad garden, convenient transport to Managua and Kaiser University (more on that soon) and my own place, mine, mine, mine. Mike and Beth have been friends, housemates, and guides in this new life. But now, I do want to make it MY life. Amen.

No Juice, But Plenty of Cheap Labor

Once again, I am at sixes and sevens. My life is again packed into boxes, and I am leerily planning a life change. This new house and property seem ideal for me. It is costing rather more than I figured to prepare the house for occupancy. Water is not available everyday. Hence, a storage tank and pump are needed. Apparently, the landlady took her tank to the new house and has agreed to pay for some of the new one with a rent discount.

Norteamericanos, it seems, are expected to employ Nicaraguans -- as gardeners, housekeepers, launderers, cooks -- you name it. I have hired Maria Jose, a highly recommended young woman, as a housekeeper for three days per week, and she is quite willing to do, well, anything. I have also hired a gardener, a young man named Byron, who has been occupying the house while it has been empty. For this, my landlady has paid him 3,500 cordobas, or about $123 per month. I do want to plant a small salad garden, and of course, the property will need some regular raking and maintenance. However, I refused to discuss anything more than 12 hours per week, at 2,000 cordobas ($70) per month. I like to garden, and I do not want to have him do it all. Nor can I afford to pay him more. He was positively forlorn at the prospect of finding additional work. Justifiably so, but I cannot solve this for him.

The new puppy is quite charming and seems to get on with Brynn pretty well. She is a galumpher, with longish legs and no idea how to manage them.

Last night, the electricity went out and did not return until nearly 5 p.m. today. I packed a few boxes today and spent the afternoon reading Homer's Iliad in the hammock. Such an unending tale of gore and squabbling deities! I nearly cried when at last the juice came back and I could check email and return to civilization.

Tomorrow, the new appliances should be delivered to the new house, as well as the tank, and Stefan's work crew will begin installing the dog fence. I am working on finding a truck and crew to move my furniture later in April. There is an ox team locally, but I do not think they will go 30 kilometers and back!