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.