Lub-Dub

   So I had another entry started, but I forgot to save it. And now it's gone forever. That about fits how this week has gone. That entry started with ragings about my stupid heart. Maybe it's good that the entry is lost forever. Because, as I've thought it over, I don't think my heart is that stupid after all. On the contrary, it simply knows what it wants and refuses to compromise. This is brilliance to me. I am always taking moments to lash my heart for what it wants and what it doesn't. I've never taken a moment to thank it for knowing what will be good and bad for it in the long run. I must learn to trust it more. You see, my heart, much like the body that encompasses it, loves to dance. And it only longs for things that make it skip and beat freely without hesitancy. No, it's not picky. It's just an extremely complex little muscle that is fully aware of what makes it happy. It seems that I have spent so many years desperately attempting to convince it to sit quietly in its dark space, just doing its mundane job....day....after....day. "This should be fine! This is what you are meant for! What makes you skip and dance and sing, you see, it doesn't exist. There are no songs unique to your rhythm. Be happy to beat in the same way, always." And my heart, it complies for a bit. But then, on some random day, it hears it; that which makes it dance. And ah! There it goes dancing, and skipping, directly in defiance of its bitter cage. And it is days like those, those happy fleeting days, that convince it to maintain its stubborn position. 

   "I will trust you now. I too believe in the power of the music that moves you." There are so many songs, millions of different ways to arrange notes within harmonies and rhythm. But there are only those rare few that move you to tears; The ones that send chills dancing across the entire length of your skin; The songs that contain words that sing to the very depths of your core; those which make your heart sing along. These are the rare ones. 

   There have been several songs throughout my life that have affected me in the way I just mentioned. They were appropriate at very different times. There are some that made me love life more; some that forced me to love myself with all my flaws; ones that convinced me to dance in the rain and not feel foolish; and ones that ended up breaking my heart before they were over. And I am thankful for every last one of these. I thank them for convincing my heart to stay on course, fully aware that out there, that perfect song does exist. Perhaps it hasn't been written yet. But it's lyrics are already there flowing through that other heart, making itself perfectly ready to dance with mine. I'll be waiting until I hear you.

No Mango!

  I'm sitting at an awesome little cafe I've found nestled in the heart of old San Juan. Apparently they have open mic poetry readings here on Tuesday nights at 7. Will I be in attendance next week? Yes, yes I will. I just ran into a sister I met at the San Juan hall this past Sunday. She is the one who had the adorable, bowtie clad, Southern husband. I loved them! 

    We were supposed to get slammed by a tropical storm today, so I had planned on doing museums after service. After circling the area several times, unsuccessfully locating the first museum, rolling into a red Toyota in front of me while attempting to parallel park on a hill, cursing the sun that was supposed to be hiding behind rain clouds all day and therefore no sunscreen application, finally parking, and locating a second museum only to discover it's been closed(sorry for the inconvenience), I ended up here in this wonderful little cafe. 

   There is a fella behind me talking with another guy about how he moved here from Atlanta. He came here just to visit, fell in love with the culture, and decided to stay. (Imagine that) Now they're speaking about mixing languages if you speak more than two. In my case, I speak 1/4 of 3 different languages and am only fully fluent in English, therefore I speak/think in Sparenssianglish, which unfortunately, no one else on the planet understands. They are discussing the different ways your tongue must move and be placed depending on the language you are speaking. "They drop the s's  here." Yes, yes they do. I am thoroughly enjoying eavesdropping on these men. 

   As I got lost and disappointed in museums today, here are some of the glorious things I ran across. 

   How much do I love this one?? ^ A whole bunch. Yes indeed. 

I think it's safe to say that this is the only time you'll ever see Alf, Hello Kitty, Tigger, and a gold grill in one delightful mural. 

Me too!! 

Ah yes, more pigeons.

Aka:longest name EVARR!! "So where do you live?" "Well, it's the...well, San Juan. Yes." 

   In other news, my skin is itching me TO DEATH. I have no idea what's going on. There's been talk and research on everything from scabies to herpes of the arm?!?!, over to eczema, and back to stress reaction. All I know for sure is, it is the worst itch of my life, it started on my upper lip, the outside of my ears itch and there's several spots on my left arm(where I just so happened to be wearing little leather bracelets nonstop) that make me want to claw at my arm with a steak knife. I really believe that raw flesh would feel better than this incessant, relentless, burning, and painful itching flesh on my arm currently. 

              OW

   As this is a multi-dated entry, today I went to the doctor with my rash. I wasn't too confident in her diagnosis. I don't think she was entirely too sure what it is. She is seeing me again tomorrow to see if the steroid pack and cream helped. If not, she is treating me for scabies. I was hoping there could be a scraping and examination of my itchy areas. (Ewwww) But with a steroid pack and some anti-itch meds, I'm feeling MUCH better. The rash is finally going away! A sister back home who worked in a dermatologists office for years, told me that in Florida she saw this reaction all the time after people handled the skin of mangoes! It can cause a reaction just like poison ivy! How crazy is that?! But thank goodness for steroid packs. I detest taking them, but my skin gets the weirdest things to happen to it. And it seems they are the only thing that will help sometimes. So in a few days I will do a delightful cleanse. 

    T-21 days until I have to leave this wonderful place. Until then, I am soaking up every single moment I can, freaky mango rashes and all. 

Rain Rain Go Away

   I am lying here contemplating whether or not to turn on the air conditioner in my room. The Coquis are singing away outside my windows(which reminds me to go and crank open the shutters that are still shut from earlier today when I was getting ready for meeting with the air on. Thanks!) Omar had the talk in San Juan at 1:00. We brought all of our beach attire and had decided to leave after the talk and hit the sand. Two problems arose. 1)It began to thunderstorm during the talk 2)Our car was completely blocked in by our very own sea of automobiles. Two congregations. Lotsa cars. Gated hall. Fire hazard much?? So...we gather our things and sludge back into our seats we just left a few moments ago. Awkward! It never stopped raining. :(  After meeting I met a fellow furniture refinisher. We gushed over our love of our trade and bonded over our hate of Pledge and gorilla glue. It was glorious. Dad if you're reading this(Tommy, I KNOW you are) wear your mask and gloves when using chemicals! Please! He was telling me horror stories. He just retired after 40 years. I wish my parents could retire. Sigh.... 

   I still have no work and I'm trying not to stress out about that. The one for sure deal that I had fell through. So that stinks. I continue to apply for other things. And I am making jewelry. I love this for several reasons. 1)It's a brilliant way to pass the time 2)I am hand making gifts for you beautiful people back home 3)I get to tap into the artsy side of my head 4)I have visions of getting enough done and actually selling some to the cruise ship passengers rolling through on the weekends. I think if I could sell just a couple, my day would be made. I'm going to try it this weekend for one day if I can. 

   I would love to have my touch up kit here. I would just go and call on furniture stores and show them what I can do. It'd be great if I could have my kit shipped here, but It's apparently a HUGE fiasco for a person to send hazmat in the mail. And I don't want/can't afford to buy a whole new kit while I'm here. Argh. 

   I have this lovely rash spreading on my wrist. I have no idea what it is. But it itches, is bumpy, and likes to turn into full on urticaria when I'm hot and dare to scratch it. I am convincing myself that I have definitely not acquired scabies. My skin absolutely adores misbehaving. Scabies takes me back to Saturday.... On the drive home we saw this: 

   Saturday afternoons, Omar and Rheanna have drama practice. (It's SO good.) It's held at a Kingdom Hall with a huge covered patio area. So it's outside, but always very breezy, and of course sheltered from the sun's smiling face. It begins to storm. This particular Saturday, an adorable Schnauzer came traveling through the practice area. Immediately, even from a distance, I can tell this dog is sick. He has mange. His long flowing black, white, and grey hair has long since matted into impenetrable dreadlocks. There are burs matted so hard into his fur, the thorns are sticking in to his skin. His once proud, maybe even neatly trimmed beard is tangled into the dreads formed around his nose and eyes. He has little wounds on his skin that are barely visible through the matting. He's followed the loud sounds of the drama voices looking for any resemblance of a meal. He smells of wetness that has never really dried, time and time again. He has the kindest eyes. I am getting up to attempt giving him the last few chunks of my papaya, when someone harshly begins to "shoo shoo SHOO!!" him away. I scald this person with my eyes and say, "Don't shoo him!! I'll get him! He's just scared." The person backs away and I move in. He's terrified of humans. I slowly gain his trust, bring the papaya with me. I ask Omar for my scissors and a rope that I saw lying around earlier. I slip the rope around the dog's neck and he gingerly follows my lead out to the sidewalk in front of the hall. I begin by rubbing his head. He acts like has forgotten how a good head pat even feels and is still cautious of this human giving him attention he has not known of in ages. Finally, he remembers. And oh yes, how wonderful a head scratching feels. And oh, the ears. The ears..... His ears are separated into sections. I can't imagine how this happened. And I am sure I don't want to. He eats the papaya. I begin to snip away at his mats. I one by one clip out all the burrs that I find. I separate his beard from the hair around his nose. I trim all around his face and neck and make it as short as possible. What a sweet face he has. Dread after dread after bur after bur are clipped away. He gives me kisses on my fingers and now seems to trust this human giving him this desperately needed relief. He rolls on his back for me to clip away at his belly. The sun has come out for all of this and is beating down on us. I hardly notice the sweat rolling down my face and back as I am focused on the face before me. Drama practice has ended. Omar goes next door and buys him two cans of beenie wheenies. I have accomplished all I can with scissors and the time I have. We lead him on his leash past the busy streets, down into a neighborhood, over into a park area, remove his leash, and give him the food. He is still gobbling as we turn around and walk away. I feel a rush of guilt as I turn my back on him. But there is nowhere to take animals like him here. And there are stray dogs, in pitiful shape, with the saddest eyes I have seen  -everywhere-. Yet, I continue to hear of people breeding their fancy dogs. Yes, that's just what this island needs. How someone could want a dog and be able to resist the eyes of one that needs them so desperately bad only to pay to have one made, is beyond me. I think it's pure evil and selfish to breed dogs. EVIL AND SELFISH. 

   So now, I can't stop thinking about that sweet doggie. I like to imagine someone somewhere taking pity on his hideous state and at the very least, slipping him some food every so often. "Don't feed 'it'! 'It' will just keep coming back!!" Well God forbid that happen and have him be shown some regular kindness. God forbid. 

   As we walk back inside the patio, it begins to pour rain again. I thank Jehovah for giving me just enough sunshine to accomplish what I could. 

Bad Day Turned Good

Before I officially get all serious on you,  here is a fun picture. I like to call it, "Me and a sea slug in the blinding sun." 

You're welcome.

   Two days ago started off in the exact way a bad, or just plain "off" day would begin. There I was, standing alone in the room. Suddenly a tall and handsome man approaches me. He somehow can sense that I am sad. He says nothing, but only reaches out his big, comforting arms to hug me. I am instantly calmed and reach out to him. As I start to lay my head on his shoulder, FWHACK! I bash my head on the concrete wall my bed rests against. OW. I move my bed further from the wall and feel the desperate need for coffee and perhaps more gentle hugging skills...

   There is a torrential downpour going on outside as I decide to make my way to a nice indoor activity. As I've explained, the roads here generously throw out random gifts of potholes. Also, I have decided my windshield wipers are on island time. Even on full speed, they........take.....their.....time.........as..... they ....swisssh .....bacccck ....and .....forth. (Not so helpful in insta-monsoons) I'm riding along as the car next to me discovers either a gift the road left for him or a new river on the interstate. SPLASH! I am pounded with a wall of water. I am blind. I remember the semi next to me. PANIC. Island time windshield wipers...............decide to wave. I can see again and all is well. Somehow I make it to the museum alive. And the sun is now beaming. 

   Museo De Art De Puerto Rico did not disappoint. I entered at the children's activity floor(naturally) and was instantly enamored. You could write on the walls. There were tables with various artist tools to draw pictures, displays of different types of wood mediums used for projects and how to differentiate them!!,(flashback to grade school when my Mom and Pop helped me with an amazing map of the United States composed of all different types of wood;native to each state of course;with descriptions and characteristics in a binder)and an area where you could draw yourself.

There I am at the bottom :) 

   There were several pieces that gave me chills and at least two that admittedly got my tear ducts tingled. I absolutely adore seeing different interpretations of a certain art period based on culture differences. It's really amazing. PR changed drastically after the United States took over. Many pieces were dedicated to remembering the island's way of life before this happened. 

   One extremely touching piece was two figures facing each other but looking in to the distance with blank stares and gazes. There were red balls between them representing lost loved ones. The blank stares showed they were still heartbroken and unable to move on from their losses. One of the figures was barely holding on to a red ball with that empty stare. The piece perfectly captured heartbreak over the loss of someone too intertwined in your heart strings to cut them loose without damage. As I stood in the middle of the room staring, I realized tears were welling up in my eyes.  

   My favorite painting was a perfect capture of El Yunque as cloudy fog is passing over the top. It displayed the rainforest's lush greenery in a splendid sea of vivid verdes. I could actually picture myself standing right in the middle, amazed by the beauty of that mountain. I really wish they would let you take pictures in there. 

   You know what I -can- have pictures of?? Me holding another random critter. 

Biggest frog I've ever seen in my entire life!! 

   Outside the museum was a great sculpture garden...where I proceeded to locate a mango tree that had littered the ground beneath it with perfect little fruit. I made two armful trips back and forth to my car. I was not ashamed. 

This is a tiny concrete armchair in the garden. There were several. I sat in one just to do it. 

   And then I headed home. I was supposed to be helping Omar and Rheanna move. I got lost. It started pouring rain again. I rear ended someone. That's right. I glanced down to try and see if I just missed my turn again. Everyone in front of me slammed on their brakes and BAM! In the pouring rain, the man whose car I hit, steps out, looks at his car, looks at me, smiles, waves me off, and gets back in the car. I clumsily attempt to gather up my entrails as I shift back into gear and get out of the way of the honking cars. I somehow make it back home; in time to help nonetheless. 

   So there was my day. I failed to mention losing Rhe's cutting board into kitchen oblivion. It fell behind an attached cabinet never to be seen again. Nice.

   But here's why it wasn't as bad as my mind thought it should be. My car is fine(guess there are benefits to driving a little log wagon). I still am enthralled with the kindness of most here. The museum was soul soothing. And I didn't get all that upset over anything. As Rheanna mentioned, "Maybe the island is starting to rub off on me." 

Mosquitos Can't Bring Me Down!

   Just because this is on my mind right now as I dig a nail in the middle of the bites I have acquired this evening in the hopes that this crazy remedy will alleviate the itching. I give it a 90% cure rate. It thrills me beyond belief that my magical anti-bug concoction works against these evil mosquitos. But any inch of my flesh that isn't coated is open for business. Tonight, they decided to nibble my hand, very upper half of my back, upper thigh, and neck. (Insert grumpy angered face here) I hate the little blood sucking varmints! That is all.

   Things I adore about Puerto Rico in no particular order. And I'm sure to add to this list later: 1)The Coquis. Their song makes me not so sad about not hearing the "reearrw" bugs back home. (For those of you pondering what bug that is;it's a cicada) However, I could swear they are saying "Cupcake! Cupcake!" And yes, this does indeed make me long for the taste of a cupcake. Dang frogs. 2)The driving. It's rare to see a blinker. U-turns are perfectly acceptable. No one does the speed limit. People dart in and out of traffic and don't want you to do the same. But if you do, they won't honk at you. No road is immune to potholes that, no doubt your entire car could fall into. When you need to cross four lanes, just pull on out. They'll stop for you. If a light is too long and there is no traffic, just run it. Traffic lights go out a lot. There is no four way stop when this happens. It's a "middle of the intersection, it doesn't matter who was here first, I'm going whether you are or not, let's all dance in the middle" type of mentality. Yet there are no wrecks. 3)Puerto Rican's heat mentality. Yes, everyone is hot. No, their house probably doesn't have air. The windows will all be open, all the time. And fans..there must be fans. But no one is ever sweating profusely...or complaining about it. 4)The little spurts of rain every day.(Hey, it is a rainforest after all) It has a distinct smell. I can always smell it coming. And if it is ever mixed with the fresh cut grass..... pure heavenly bliss. 

   I dreamed last night that someone here told me that the island was built upon an ancient fairy mound. I replied, "I knew it! I knew it!!!!" 

   

Pigeons

   Let me tell you all about why I'm awesome. You see, I have people skills. I never meet a stranger. I will contribute to a positive and upbeat environment. Bartending skills? Sure! Name a drink and I'll mix it up. No, never professionally. No, I've technically done any waitressing, but I learn skills very quickly. Yes, the majority of my working life I've repaired furniture. I really am great at what I do. But that's not really an option here. Did I mention I cook? No, not professionally, but I love it and I'm really good at that too. I'm a fast learner! I have great organizing skills....no, no I don't speak Spanish. 

   So goes the wonderful world of pimping your work self out and digging deep into your soul's pockets to grab at something, anything, that businesses will latch on to. Still no job. Everyone has just hired people, just let several go, just not so much wanting a honkey that doesn't se habla espanol. 

   I'm sitting at a Starbucks, sipping my Chai Tea Latte, using the free Internet, attempting to get as far away from the girl to my 5:00 that continues to hack her brains out. I'm contemplating ditching my work/heat friendly blue dress and this disheartening process, for my bikini in the car and the beach that sits alluringly 1 block away. 

   There's a pigeon in front of the window, and Zippideedooda is on the radio. I'm beginning to think at this point, that if there were indeed a bird on my shoulder, it would most definitely be a pigeon. And it would poop on me. My oh my not a wonderful feeling at all. Nope. But speaking of pigeons, let me talk about the beautiful experience I had in old San Juan recently. This was a few days ago. I was turning in resumes to places that won't call back because I don't speak-uh-the-Spanish. I feel like a celebrity here by the way. People look at me, with my flowers in my hair, glowing white skin that stands out like a sore thumb in the sea of caramel, face and shoulders now exploding in Summer's freckles, and (SERIOUSLY, is everyone in here sneezing or coughing?! Ugh! Stay away vacation bugs! Stay away!!) very non-Puerto Rican way of dressing like I

 -must- be here on vacation...and lost, very lost. Pigeons. I turned down a dead end street and saw a park at the end off to the right. So I decided to go. My ears were immediately flooded with distinctly southern accents. There was a tour group from a southern state that I can't remember now. We were delighted to hear one another, y'all. ;) 

   To my right, there's a man playing the accordion. Over by a wall, sits a man selling bags of corn. People everywhere are shrieking, squealing, chuckling, as pigeons lose their little birdy sanity over the corn. Any body that has limbs attached is a landing post. I am immediately disgusted and wonder why anyone would want these nasty creatures, that I just happen to love chasing, landing on them; much less to pay for the experience! But I walk around, take pictures, smile at the weirdos that have birds on pecking up their arms and landing on their heads. And then it happens. I pose my arm in such a way for that perfect shot. Suddenly I am looking a pigeon in the eyes. He has landed on the upper part of my arm. I have no corn. I just want to take a picture. But there he sits, perched on me. (Looking back, I am now convinced that this is the bird that put the magical pigeon trance on me.) Instantly, a feeling rushes over me. I start to laugh....rather loudly. And now, as I look at all these birds, I no longer am disgusted. I no longer want to chase and kick at them. I want them on MY head and arms. I NEED some corn!  A couple is leaving, and they ask if I want their leftover pigeon crack. "Yes, please!!" I screech, with childlike pleading. They hand it to me. Here they come. Somewhere, Chariots of Fire starts playing as they fly in slow motion towards me. (ChChChChhh) I'm covered in pigeons. They land on each other's heads and backs, too exuberant to even care. Hysterical laughter ensues. I try to get out my camera. The couple asks if I would like them to take my picture. "Sure!!" (Again, I am the large child.) 

My face resembles a beaver's in this shot. But this is the first, and perfectly captures the exact moment I just described. So it stays. 

   I am still at the park, dying of laughter, holding my phone. Yet another couple asks if I'd like the moment captured on "film." Isn't it sad that phrase is no longer relevant? I of course agree and try to maintain some type of adult composure for this one. 

   I empty my bag of corn and decide to finally move on. I stop to listen to the accordion player only, with no pigeon interruptions. I give him a tip. He smiles and begins to gently sway as he plays. I can tell he truly enjoys this as he puts his heart in to the song I've tipped him for. 

   I leave him with a smile and a "gracia_"(remember to leave off the "s" while in Puerto Rico.) 

   As I continue my job search for the day, I crave the thick, black, and rich espresso I will certainly be addicted to before I leave from this wonderful place. I find a tiny coffee stand in the middle of a town square and indulge myself. I finish sipping the black gold and feel it's tingly effects starting to reach my fingers and toes. The view is a flowing fountain; a couple holding one another; two older ladies enjoying a coffee break; a man playing guitar and singing; pigeons!; another man, toothless but smiling as he sells corn to smiling children; smiles.

 Just as I am finished sipping, a crack of thunder shakes the sky and there's an instant downpour. (Always carry an umbrella in Puerto Rico.) It's not letting up any time soon. I decide there couldn't be a more perfect ending to this day, so I leave my job search for another one soon, and head home. This place, it has fairy dust in it's concrete foundations. I just know it. 

Big Day Indeed

   I'm just coming in from hanging laundry on the line. I'm still on a high from the other day. I got my résumé together, printed out driving directions(why didn't I think to bring a GPS aside from the one on my phone??), packed some snacks, coated myself in sunscreen and confidence, and strolled out the door. I am tired of being intimidated by an inanimate object. I didn't even practice around the neighborhood first. I just set out on the unnamed roads. There was stop and go traffic, really big hills, merging, people slamming on their brakes in front of me, 5th gear!!!!, and 27.5 miles of unknown terrain. And I survived!! I parked in a garage in the middle of everything and set out on my journey. I dropped off résumés, talked to people, walked around looking for interesting places that I would like to work, wrote down business hours, took pictures, and thoroughly enjoyed myself. I met a really sweet guy that took my résumé and bought me beers as we chatted away about work, life, the island, where to go, etc. Thanks Wil! 

Crabmeat mofongo ^ Ohhh yeaaaaa

 

   We went to the beach on Saturday. Despite double application of SPF 45, I got myself lobster back. Ow. I am so protective of my skin that it really really ticks me off when I let myself get burned.

    Owwww:

   But the beach was gorgeous. There were too many people at this one, but it didn't prevent me from soaking in all of the beauty around me. Someone was playing Reggaeton in the background. (I ADORE Reggaeton) There was a perfect breeze that cut the sun's abrasive smile. And just when the sun began to win, and a drop of sweat formed on my brow, we eased in to the cool Atlantic. I imagined tiny pillars of smoke billowing in to the air and a ssssssssss as our skin touched the salty water. Bliss.

   Last night was family worship.... outside, on the roof, with a background song of Coquis and Spanish guitar. A steady breeze wafted lemongrass in the air. (I now carry my tiny bottle of essential oil with me when I will be outside for extended periods of time. A few drops between my palms and a quick application, is the perfect mosquito barrier for my skin.) A Coqui began to sing from the plant right beside me. I sneaked a peek inside the tubular leaf of a tropical plant I am unfamiliar with, and saw his little froggy face smiling up at me. Oh, Puerto Rico, how you are healing my soul in ways you don't even realize....

   

The Thing That Haunts My Dreams

   I actually got myself out of the house of my own accord yesterday. This is an amazing feat due to the evil beast that lurks outside my door. It stares at me and stalks me with it's beady eyes. It knows no fear of the light of day, nor longs for the cover of night. It slowly, softly, alluringly whispers my name. I resist, distract myself with other things that need to be done. But just like that druggie desperately seeking his next fix, I go to the monster. And while it feels so good, I know that the aftereffects will leave my legs weak, my stomach in knots, and sweat dripping from my brow. Perhaps you know the evil I describe. It goes by different names. Manuel, stick, stick shift, pure hell. Yes, I can admit I am terrified. But I must conquer the beast! So after exercise, working on filling out a resume, cleaning, dishes, etc.., I decided to go.............and get gas. I know you're impressed. I didn't try to find one on a map or GPS it, or anything. I just drove. Let me remind you that the last time I drove one of these has been YEARS ago. And Memphis is FLAT. Pulling in your driveway is a successful attempt of conquering a hill. But here..Ah yes, here, it's like a skinny, pimple-faced, awkward, teenage boy making his very best attempt at alluring an older, beautiful, voluptuous, Spanish Flamenco dancer. She laughs in his face as she "snip snip snip"'s her castanets.
   So I find a gas station. I pull in...on the opposite side of my tank(told you my gut never chooses correctly). That means...I must reverse(gasp!) and pull to the other side. Success!! Here, all is prepay. Standing in line to pay. Drilling my head for the number 30. "30 on dos." "How do you say 'on?'" "Trece? No, that's 13! Blast!!""Treedsaht! No that's Russian you fool!" "Crap, I'm up!" "Thirty on two, please." Good job, honkey. (treinta, dang it) He replies in English. I reply, "Gracia..." They leave off the S's here on so many words. It's kinda great because it reminds me of southern slang. I fill up my car, get some cash out of the atm, and get back on the road. It's too late in the day to attempt driving all the way to the beach or San Juan. I am trying to figure out where I'm going, interpret the signs on the highway, and figure out what I'm doing. I stall in front of a light where I'm turning. "I'm gonna die!!!!!!" Honk Honk HONNNKKKKK.....and I gallop off. The idea of getting around via horse is seeming less and less unordinary....
   I'm driving along, rather deflated and thinking I'm just gonna head back home when I see signs for Jardin Botanico ahead. Yes! Wait forever at a light, turn signal, zoom zoom ppthhpppttt. Crank! First, vroom, ppthhppptttt. Light turns red. Light stays red for...ever. I have a car behind me now. -Gulp-. "I can do this. I can do this." There's the arrow again! First, vroom, die. Crank, first, vroom, die. "C'MON FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT'S HOLY DON'T LET ME STAY DEAD IN THE MIDDLE OF THIS HUGE INTERSEC......." vroom in to the parking lot! WHOO HOO!! Park. Walk up to the gardens. They closed 15 minutes ago. Really?? I walk around the parking lot anyways, just to step away from the monster for a while. I spy an open gate for exiting. I mosy on up, look around, strut right in. Thank you, thank you very much. What a recharge for my deflated soul!! This place is utterly gorgeous. Off to my right, there is a most beautiful couple getting photographed. He is perfectly sculpted, shirtless, and glistening in the sun. And she is radiant with her perfectly pregnant belly shining. I think of sweet Heather and the precious bean. Little butterflies escape when I imagine another baby Jennings. I adore those kids.
   I am enamored with this place. I am re-energized.
   Today: Up early with Rheanna to exercise, smoothie, finish writing this, finish resume and print off several, shower, Bob Marley while I get ready, take my first extended journey with the monster to San Juan, try to get myself a job, a little beach before heading back. Here goes....
  

Learning To Fly

   So, it's been a while. I have never stopped writing. I can never stop.. If you're reading this, you probably know me well. And that means you know I have a lot to say. I'm never quiet. If I am, my mind is speaking a million words a minute. My thoughts go down on pen and paper or in the notes of my phone these days. But I thought it would be a nice change to bring it on back to the good ol' blog. Plus, Tommy would kill me if I didn't set this up so that everyone back home can stalk my adventures.
   This is a travel blog, yes. So it's gonna be lots of fun times and pictures and laughs and ridiculousness. It's also me, my thoughts, my feelings. Those have been known to get ugly sometimes. But I'm putting it all down because I think that's only fair to my dark side. I am trying to view this Summer as a healing process, some down time from the negative. And I think part of that process is sorting through the bad stuff. Nobody is all smiles all the time. And if they are, they're faking, at least sometimes.
   Now that we're through all that disclaimer bunk, let's get down to bidness!
DAY 1, Puerto Rico:
   The official start of this journey was on Saturday. First of all, packing for 2+ months is ROUGH. What was the worst part? Shoes, of course. That being said, I ended up with 2 checked bags, each under the 50lb weight limit, 10 pairs of shoes, a small carry on, and my purse. I think that's not too shabby. Back to Saturday. I drove to MO to see Ava's dance recital and then fly out of St. Louis on Monday. She did great. And I will admit to getting teary-eyed.... It of course was awesome to see everybody. It blows my mind that Heather has another little bean growing. They make some pretty fantastic kids, so grow away I say!
   Heather and Ava drove me to the St. Louis airport. Checking in has never been so easy! Anywho, as soon as I walk in, there is a JW.org booth set up with two sweet sisters. Within 5 minutes, there were introductions, hugs, pictures, huge toothy grins and farewells. Then I'm off to the strip down for security. Once again, relatively smooth except for my bag having to get rechecked because of some soaps, toothpaste, and some tree hugger items I stashed in my carry on. All good. The flight was great. I got instructed to sit in the exit row between two nice fellas.(it was open seating) A moment after I sit down, the flight attendant walks back by, laughs, pats the man on my left on his shoulder and she mutters something I don't understand. He starts laughing. I feel am I missing out on something, which he senses, and informs me that he told the flight attendant to find a tiny Asian woman to sit next to him. (His last flight was spent squished next to an overflowing fella occupying the seat by him) He then laughs and says, "Well, you're not Asian, but you'll do!" I wasn't sure whether to be offended or flattered, but decided upon the latter. Turns out he was a medical student and we shared awful stories of the medical field. Good times. He left me with well wishes for my journey and finishing school and a coupon for a free drink on my next flight.(Rum rum rum. I love rum) Thanks Mehdi!
   I had a 4 hour layover in Ft. Lauderdale(which is an impossibly hard word for my slightly lisping tongue to ever make it's way around perfectly the first time) (You just said it out loud didn't you?HehHeh) I parked myself at the bar of a Mediterranean restaurant and enjoyed some hummus and grilled veggies. There I read several chapters of my book, enjoyed some most delicious Cuba Libre, and eavesdropped on numerous people that occupied the chairs around me. I amused myself with a game of successfully predicting what drinks most would order. I wondered if I am that transparent. I got bored with lame conversation and went back to reading. I couldn't figure out the bartenders accent, so I asked. St. Lucia. We shared refreshing stories of travels, life, skin color, friends, and prejudice. Someone had to be waited on so I go back to finish my chapter. Someone next to me starts a conversation with, "I couldn't help eavesdropping just now." I openly admit to my earlier antics. I love people with tales. I could listen all day long. He shared stories of college, unhappy career choices, a 7 year old son that spent the first part of his life in the NICU, deep respect for pediatric nurses, and well wishes for my promising career and adventures. And just like that, four hours were gone. I said goodbyes to St Lucia and NICU and went the wrong way out. My gut never tells the right direction, ever. Turned around, on my way to my next flight. Almost there, I reach in my bag and see the magazine on prejudice ending. Missed opportunity#1.
   Security check again. Ugh. Bag recheck for odd looking items....again. All good. I know I've reached the correct terminal when I am surrounded by caramel skin, free flowing Spanish conversations, and yes, there's someone in the corner playing Spanish guitar. Perfecto. I step out of the airport and immediately fill my lungs with the rush of warm Puerto Rican air and drench my ears in the Coqui! Coqui! Coqui! Coqui! song of the frogs. I had forgotten how much I loved that sound. And then before my eyes start to feel left out, there's Omar and Rheanna, my precious friends who have made this all possible. Hugs, drive, gifts, sleep.
   That brings us to today. Today has been a lazy day of unpacking, nibbling on fresh mango, and finding a place for all my things. I'm laying on my bed. There's a breeze dancing in and out of all of the open windows throughout the house. A fan refuses to succumb to the heat. A dove is harmonizing with other unknown birds outside my window as the neighbor across the street meticulously sweeps her driveway. Life is good.