A Blogless Blog

I toasted up a couple of RTGFKAR's homemade muffins before sitting down to write this. What this means is that I now have a dog plunked down beside me staring at my food. I can understand the attraction. The dog is an English breed and these are English muffins. Suuuurre. Tomorrow I'll whip up some Latvian muffins and put that theory to the test.

The dog's sounding out little whiny noises and trying to get me to make eye contact. He knows if I do, I'm a gonner. Now he's placed his head on my knee. His eyes are all shiny and soft.

Here you go Buddy, have a bite.

Hey, what else could I do? He's got those eyes. If I had eyes like that I'd stand in front of bank tellers and make cooing sounds.

It's rainy and windy again this morning. What's the deal with that? A friend of ours told us last night that she had heard from a reliable Panamanian souse, I mean source, that this was the rainiest rainy season in eighteen years. Hope it's not a trend; part of global climate change and all that. I mean if it only happens every eighteen years, I can live with it. I'll be eighty-three when the next wet one comes around, if my math is right, and probably still bitchin about the lack of golf in my life. I mean some things never change.

Gus is now barking insanely at the front door. There's a woman and a little girl out there. Gus thinks kids are other dogs or toys or something to be played with. Kids think Gus is a tiger. Takes them awhile to get used to each other. The woman has been sent here by our landlady to clean the grout around our tiles. The grout is still gritty from the flood. School is out so the kid is tagging along with mom.

And now, having let them in and calmed the dog and put cartoons on the TV my train of thought has leaped from the track. No loss though. It was a Lionel narrow gauge anyway.

Sixteen Tons and Current Events

"...another day older and deeper in debt."

I'm trying to cross two lanes of traffic on the busiest road in Daveed. I look left and nothing's coming for a long ways so I pull out and block off that lane. I look to the right waiting for a break in traffic from that direction so I can make it across to the other side. Finally there's a gap and I bust my move. Trouble is, guy coming from the left decides to drive into the wrong lane and go around me just as I do so. Crunch. When all is said and done it leaves me as the hitter and not the hitee and no way to prove the other guy caused the accident. Nobody hurt, minimal vehicle damage. Minimal meaning I'm shelling out three hundred at the scene to make the other guy go away and five or six more to restore RTGFKAR's car to its former lovely and talented self. Luckily I'm one of those deep pocket guys. Of course there's nothing in those deep pockets apart from the odd ball of lint but still, hey, they're deep.

We were in Daveed - you all know I write Daveed because if I write David you'll read the pronunciation wrong - to renew RTGFKAR's visa. This has been a monthly ritual since Panama reduced their visa stays from ninety days to thirty. The good news is that RTGFKAR's residency has been approved and only awaits a signature from some nameless bureaucrat to become official. This should occur before the year is out unless Unnamed Official suffers from Writer's Cramp and takes the month off to heal. This, or something like it, has been known to happen, but we remain hopeful.

Further good news I wish to impart, but that sounds painful so Ill just tell you, is that RTGF's stuff has arrived. It only took seven months which leads us to believe it wasn't actually sent by ship but rather packed down by lazy mules with bad feet. Nevertheless, it is here and it is now stored in one of the new house's guest rooms awaiting the completion of the construction to be unpacked and put away in the places designated for, well, stuff. The fly in this ointment is that construction has slowed to a...I won't say standstill, because there is the occasional brush stroke of paint applied, so let's go with molasses creep, and a fair projection will put us in the house just before the world ends in 2012. One hopeful sign though is that a power line has been strung from the main road to the house and electricity may be in the offing. Or is that the on-ing? Whatever. RTGFKAR can now go up and put his arms around any of many cardboard boxes and say, "my stuff" while sighing contentedly.

And on the weather front, there is some. Mostly wind and sideways rain. Noisy too.

Someone from the bleachers yells, "Ya still love Panama?"

"You betcha, damn straight, are bears catholic and does the Pope pee in the woods?" I yell back.

Of course I love Panama. It's impossible not to.

Nothing...again

I have nothing to say today. I am mum, mute, closed mouthed and silent. There is not one single thing that needs to be said from my point of view. Not one. Not even Go Broncos or my foot's asleep, so I'll sit here and muse, ponder and meditate which are not as you might think three of Santa's reindeer, some of the seven little people or a California law firm. No, they are what I am doing. Right now. As I sit here.

Still nothing.

Alrighty then. I'm not a man who is afraid to ask for help in troublesome circumstances - although asking for directions when driving is still out of the question - so I'm inquiring, "what do you do when you've got nothing?" C'mon, help me out here, give me a hint will ya?

Okay, I understand. You don't want to give up your secrets. When you've got nothing you go to your bag of tricks - which is something right there - and you pick one to suit the circumstance. I don't have a bag of tricks. Wish I did. I can see how it would come in handy. What I've got is a big bag of nothing. You could root around in there for days and not find a thing. It's empty I'm telling you. A vacuum. A hole in space. An empty vessel waiting to be filled.

Still waiting. I've heard that stuff is drawn to a vacuum.

Still nothing.

I've watched five movies in the last two days. Do I want to comment? Nah. Nothing there. The weather's changing for the better, but do I want to write about the weather? Uh uh, don't think so. The guy across the street is said to have died last week. I saw him drive up and park his pickup yesterday. Can ghosts drive?

Okay, now there's a topic. Ghosts.

So you see, you just need to wait awhile. Patience is the best policy, someone said. Or was it me? I've got plenty of patience but of course now I'm out of time. Out of time? How can you be out of time the wise man asked, it's endless.

And there's another topic.

Food Freak

As you may have grocked from reading past blogs, I am interested in all things sent down from Foods R Us except cook books, but including diet books. Okay, that's not like I'm interested in literature, sports, movies, music, current events, spirituality, art, humor, super models and dancing with wolves or stars, but I do pay attention when the subject of food comes up and the subject of food comes up...daily. ("food comes up" may not be the right choice of words.)I mean somebody is always asking what's for lunch or what are we going to do about food, after which plans are made to eat some, so you see I am aware that this is a subject dear to the hearts and stomachs of most people and must be taken...with a grain of salt. So to speak.

Now here I need point out that I am a vegetarian and have been for quite some time. I'm thinking eight, maybe nine days. I'm pretty strict too. I've only had meat four times in that period. What brought me to this less than mainstream dietary regimen was The North Beach Diet. This is a diet in which one only eats carbohydrates. Lots of carbohydrates taken in as many diverse forms as possible is recommended by the author of the diet who shall remain anonymous as I don't like using my name in vain. Today, for instance, in honor of the Pilgrims whose own diet preferences and attitudes are revealed when you break down their group moniker into its component parts, ie: "pill" and "grim", I plan to start the day with cinnamon rolls and move onto pie. In between, who knows, but you can be sure I'll get my share of carbos and hydrates because I don't want to be decarboed or dehydrated.

Thanks Happygiving.

Teething

I'm always impressed by people with perfect teeth. Met a couple yesterday, she from Costa Rica, he from Panama who both had perfect teeth. Their kid, who is two, had imperfect teeth, but he was wearing braces. Braces at two? Aren't they just a first set of choppers destined to fall out? Oh well, what do I know?

I'll tell you what I know,(and that won't take long) they were a nice couple, they complimented my Spanish and, as you might guess, they smiled a lot. People with perfect teeth always do. They were at B and L's house visiting when we, RTGFKAR, Woowoo and I, dropped in, which is how I got to know about their excellent taste in Gringo Spanish speakers and their perfect teeth. The guy, whose name is, I'm thinking Nicholas or maybe Nicole, imperfect memories go along with imperfect teeth, told me about his travails trying to get residency in Costa Rica so that he and his family could live there part of the year and spend time with his wife's parents. Their son, John Paul, the two year old with braces, was born in Costa Rica which automatically grants him CR citizenship, but leaves him lacking legal status in Panama. Nick, let's call him that for short, said the whole thing is a living nightmare, but he smiled throughout the telling. Can't say I blame him for that. With teeth like his, I'd smile at a funeral.

John Paul, by the way, was named after the Pope of the same name. The wife whose moniker is Michelle or some Spanish version of that, wanted to dub the child Juan Pablo, but the husband didn't like the way that sounded so they opted for the English version. The wife explained to me that she talks to the Pope and he's a close personal friend who answers her in her heart. My Spanish isn't good enough to translate uuuuEEEEuuuu so I let it go. Besides she was smiling and it's hard to take issue with perfect teeth.

Your probably wondering why I choose to tell you about all this, but then, so am I. Especially when I could have just said, Go Broncos. Hey, that Bronco horse logo has got some mouthful of teeth doesn't it?!

Progress in Spanish

I finished reading "Harry Potter Y El Misterio del Principe" the sixth book of the series yesterday after months of pecking away at it. I'm getting a bit sick of the little twerp and may root for Voldemort when the seventh book gets translated into Spanish. I'm now on to Gabriel Garcia Marquez' "Ojos De Perro Azul", (Eyes of the Blue Dog) a book of short stories by the great man. Gabe's themes are more complex than the simple good versus evil you get in Potter and I'm looking forward to that. What I'm not looking forward to is the more complex Spanish. If you're wondering how I manage to read this second language with my wizened old brain, the answer is, of course, slowly. I look up lots of words; mostly nouns and verbs and the occasional adjective. There are too many adjectives and adverbs to learn and so many that I just will never use. For instance if the author writes, "Harry said wryly" (in Spanish I'm talking)I'm not going to look up wryly, because it is a word I'll probably never find a use for unless I decide to write in Spanish which seems unlikely in that I'm just now getting the hang of English... more or less. I realize I miss a certain subtlety the author is implying by not looking up wryly, but, c'mon, I'm old. I'm saving time for learning words I can use in actual conversation. Words like "chupar", to suck. That way I can say, Los Yankees se chupan when I talk to someone wearing an NY baseball cap. Someone small, frail and old that is. I've found that after I've looked up the same word about four times it sticks in my mind and I remember it the next time it appears in the text. Unfortunately, this doesn't mean that the word is now a part of my spoken vocabulary. For that I have to use the word aloud, in a sentence context, an additonal three or four times. Again, like chupar. I use that a lot. I would be further along conversationally if I weren't essentially shy. I'm not one to strike up a chat with a stranger, a thing useful for getting the hang of a new language, and even when I am forced to converse, I try to keep it short. A couple of cocktails will loosen my Spanish tongue, but I don't think that's an advisable training aid. Or is it? A little scotch in the morning coffee might be just the thing.

Nah, I think I'll just go read a book.

This and That Part 3 or Maybe 4

Yesterday's blog was entitled "Blogging Religiously." Have I used that before? The Monkeymind has a monkey memory. No matter. There's nearly 250 Monkeymind blogs floating around in cyberspace annoying cyberspacemen and I can't remember a four item grocery list without writing it down, so I won't stress over using a title twice.

The rainy season ended abruptly yesterday as I said it would. The day dawned sunny and warm and remained so throughout. It's gone today though. Short dry season.

I fell asleep writing a poem in my head last night. It had something to do with the beloved lump in the covers beside me. Wish I could remember it. Would make Woowoo Charly happy. 'Course she'd think I was talking about the dog. Later, I started another about my boys. Been missing them lately. Can't remember that one either. I like rhyming though. I'll have to write some verse for real. Soon as a topic comes to mind. Something about Barry Bonds maybe.

I took my Barry Bonds to the bank
and they weren't worth a dime.

Yaddidda yaddida homerun rank
the Cream, the Clear, the Crime.

Something like that. Or maybe not.

We got our washer/dryer fixed yesterday. Remember when we had the flood? It's been broken since then. Had to order a part from Panama City. Took three weeks to get here. I could walk from Panama City in three weeks. Not that I'm complaining. I got to learn more vocabulary talking to the women at the Lavamatico where our clothes were cleaned in the interim.

Interim is a good word. Is there an outerim?

The rain has stopped and the big yellow ball in the sky has reappeared. Wait a sec...
there it goes again. Gonna be one of those days.

Blogging Religiously

"The mind is a servant. Don't let it be the master." Osho and others.

Alrighty then. I'm keeping an eye on mine.

A busy week is drawing to a close is what my mind wanted to write, but then I pointed out that a week is just a measurement of time elapsed and as such it can't be busy and I'm certain it can't draw. One must be vigilant.

There are times, though, when it's best to let the mind loose for a stroll around the premises. Some call that exercise. I call it blogging.

And away we go.

Watched a movie this week entitled "The Man From Earth" in which one of the characters purports to be 14,000 years old. He starts life as a Cro Magnon, gets to be about 35 and remains perpetually there. As the movie begins, he is about to take leave for parts unknown and is explaining to a group of his colleagues, all PHD's in one field or another, that he must move on, because as they age and he doesn't, things will get too dicey and he doesn't want to end up being a guinea pig in a lab somewhere. The questions then begin and our hero highlights episodes of his life in answer to them. One of the most intriguing parts is when he reveals that he was Jesus. Yup, that Jesus. He explains that he had studied under the Buddha for awhile and then, believing in the big fella's tenets, he had wandered east and began teaching what he had learned. This drew to him a small following from among the people and big, bad trouble with the Romans. He was crucified by them - hung up by ropes not nails - but used his inner training to slow his vital signs and thus simulate death. After being encrypted, he brings himself back to normal and makes his escape. Unfortunately, his recovery and departure are witnessed by a few others and, Ta Daa, a religion is born.

My own take on the Jesus segment of the film is that it was delivered with enough plausibility to make one think it might just have happened that way. I, however, still subscribe to the Freke/Gandy theory described in their "Jesus Mysteries" trilogy, that Christianity was born from a compilation of earlier Pagan myths and came to fruition during the reign of Roman Emperor Constantine when the Literalists split from the Gnostics and Constantine sided with the Literalists, making their version the accepted religion of the Roman Empire.

The film throughout is fascinating and a "must see." It's a small, low budget offering and I suspect it will get limited play for this reason and also because I'm sure the fanatical Religious Right will want it banned and burned.

Having written the above, the monkeymind now ponders what's next? It makes a short leap to this thought, gleaned also, I think, from Osho: There are over 300 religions in the world, but only one science. Science does not require blind belief. It is an ongoing search for knowledge and truth. Those who "believe" quit searching and the truth will ever elude them.

Whoa, that's heavy.

And here comes another. Laughter is meditation. When you laugh heartily there is no thought. If you think, the laughter stops. When there are no thoughts, that IS meditation.

Okay mind... enough! Back in your box. I can take it from here.

Saturday Happenings

A walnut sized frog leaped from the dark of our bedroom into the light of our bathroom as I exited the latter last night a tick or two after four. The little guy just sat there looking at me as I scraped sleep from my consciousness and pondered what to do. I could catch the frog and walk the length of the building where I could unlock a door and effect his release or I could turn out the light, close the bathroom door and deal with the tiny croaker in the morning. I knew if I made the walk, I'd be up, awake and finished with sleep for the night, so I tossed that option aside and returned to bed and dreams of happy hoppers.

It's morning now and there is no frog.

Earlier last night we, RTGFKAR, Woowoo and I, had dinner with friends Lane and Rhode before motoring on to Snoopys to see Neil Simon's play "God's Favorite" performed by our local theatre group. I could review the play as a serious critic of serious art and pan the production, but that would be unfair to the people who worked so hard to put on the show. For what it was, an amatuer offering for live theatre lovers, it was just fine, although not quite dandy.

During intermission I talked with a guy named Mark who had his golden retriever Happy on a leash and was attracting a bit of attention. I mean, most dogs don't attend theatre unless one of their own is featured. Little Orphan Annie comes to mind, arf arf. Mark and I bragged awhile about the intelligence of our respective pets and I noted how Gus will dry himself after a bath if you give him a towel. Mark nodded, unimpressed and then said, "yeah but can he count?" "Huh" I shot back cleverly. Mark then asked Happy how many people were in the group to our left and the dog gave four short barks. Alrighty then. I was one upped and returned to the play.

The thing I have noted about amateur productions is that the actors deliver their lines too rapidly. It is as if they can't wait to get through them correctly and get out of the spotlight. Professionals on the other hand, savor their lines and deliver them with proper timing and careful word emphasis. They love when it is their turn to shine and they don't rush to leave the spotlight. Neil Simon delivers a punch line in almost every sentence of his scripts and last night's cast slid over quite a few of them. Nevertheless, all in all, remember the Alamo and win one for the Gipper, the show was more than worth the seven buck ticket.

Now about that frog. "Yo Gus. Come here. I want you to find something."

We'll show that Happy a thing or two.

The House

We are at the part of house construction here in Panama where many people lose their cool and their minds and can be found running naked through the streets yelling, "Hep me somebody, hep me Jesus." We are thiiissss close to moving in and lack only a few essentials like cabinets and closets and, oh yeah, electricity or we'd be happily ensconced already. (I like that word ensconced. "Jack was fully ensconced in the tapioca filled hot tub when the super model slid in.") The problem at this stage of construction, stage 955 of 1000, is that everything slows down. Woodworkers can't keep up with demand and bureaucracy makes obtaining electricity roughly the equivalent of getting your hands on the Holy Grail. Little wonder the lost cool, the lost minds and the naked street runners. (Never having had much cool and missing a mind for years, there is little danger that I personally or even I impersonally will suffer this fate. I do worry though about Woowoo Charly and RTGFKAR, but they too are showing Zen like patience.)

In pursuit of an actual move-in date, RTGFKAR, Woowoo Chuck and I drove to Daveed this week to register our finca (the property) and our corporation (the owner of the property.) This is the first step in obtaining electricity. The last, I think, has something to do with polishing the Grail and sending it up with a kite and a key. Woowoo waited in the car while RTGF and I entered the municipal building like lambs going to the slaughter. Inside we were greeted by a scene that looked a lot like a U.S. Motor Vehicle Agency, counters and lines and people sitting about looking bored or bewildered. We were directed to a queue we hoped was the right one. When our turn came, I explained to the woman clerk in my very best Spanish exactly what we were there for and she, of course, said, "What?" Or in actuality "Como?" which can mean what. I tried again and she got the drift and began asking us a series of questions. The problem here was that even though I could understand much of her Spanish when I could hear it, I often couldn't hear it. It was very noisy in the building and I don't lip read Spanish very well at all. Eventually, after my countless pleas of "repetas por favor", the woman took matters in her own hands and checked off a number of things on several forms and showed me where to sign. RTGFKAR owns our corporation, but I'm the prez, so I do all the "firma y fecha", signing and dating. We were then directed to another line where RTGF whipped out his credit card and payed for whatever it was we had just accomplished. We were then sent back to line 1 where some stamping of this and that occurred and we were given receipts and told to return at five o,clock. We didn't want to hang around Daveed all day so we asked if we could return on another day and were told yes. We did that two days later and are now in possession of everything, we hope, to take to Union Fenosa (a fun thing to say) our local Power company and get, well, wired. That will be next week.

As for cabinets and closets we might be doing better if we could pronounce the maker's name. Miggily or Meggelleddy or mig something. Doesn't fit our English speaking tongues. Nice guy though. Does good work. "Mig old buddy, pronto por favor."

And that's all I have time for today. I've got to get undressed and go for a jog. It just seems like the right thing to do.

Baseball And The Enneagram

Here's a capsule summary and some nicknames for the nine types of the Enneagram to help those unfamiliar with the subject to follow along when I monkeymind over to the nine positions on a baseball team. These summations lack any sort of depth and are about the equivalent of me explaining baseball by saying here's a bat, a ball, a glove, a base etc. The Enneagram is an ancient, complex, deeply profound and spiritually interesting endeavor. In other words, just the kind of thing I like to screw with.

1. The Perfectionist. The Reformer. This type seeks perfection in all things and is, consequently, hard working and often driven to make things "right."

2. The Helper. The Caretaker. People who have a need to be needed. They are happiest when serving.

3. The Achiever. The Motivator. To be successful in everything they do is the bottom
line.

4. The Individualist. The Tragic Romantic. People striving to be different or special. They walk to the beat of a different drummer.

5. The Investigator. The Observer. Always in search of more information. They wish to be omniscient.

6. The Loyalist. The Stalwart. Safety and security are principal goals. They flourish in team situations.

7. The Generalist. The Enthusiast. Happiness is their primary goal. Often confuse fun with happiness.

8. The Boss. The Leader. Wants to be in control and the center of attention.

9. The Mediator. The Comforter. Sees all points of view but is in search of their own.

So there you have that and now you understand everything, right? Me neither.

Alrighty then. With no further ado or adon't, here's my Enneagram baseball team.

Playing catcher and batting in cleanup for the Enneagram Philosophers is Number 3, Joe Achiever. Catchers are the on field coaches. They call the pitches, they run the show. I want my 3 in a position to be successful.

Pitching and batting ninth or not at all, depending upon which league we are playing in, is Number 8, Joe Intimidator. I want my 8 in a position to impose his will. A thing he likes to do.

At first base and leading off is Number 1, Joe Perfect. I want my 1 at first where perfection is most needed. Everything thrown to him must be caught.

At second, and yes there is a symmetry here, I've got Number 2, Joe Helper and he bats second as well. I want a good double play combination and a guy who can help by sacrificing and using the hit and run.

Shortstop is the infield hub and I've got Number 7, Joe Energiser Bunny, my high energy guy holding down the position and batting fifth. He needs to be in on the most action so his mind doesn't wander.

Over at third I'm playing Number 4, Joe Artist our team's specialist, because third is like no other infield position and it takes an unusually gifted athlete to play there. I've got him batting sixth for no special reason.

Centerfield is manned (this is a guy's team) by Number 6, Joe Teammate. Joe will do what it takes to fit in and help the team win. He's batting third for that very same reason.

In Right I've got Number 5, Joe Thinker Not Dooer, because it's a position with usually less excitement, but when the action does come, Joe will make the right decisions. Number 5 bats seventh, because something about a five in the seventh position sounds right.

Playing left is Number 9, Mr. Amenable, because that's where we all agreed he should play and he said it's okay with him. He'll also be the team captain and will bat eighth.

Designated Hitter is Joe Anynumber, but usually a 3. They just like winning so damn much. He'll bat third or fourth and push everyone else down a spot in the batting order.

My manager will also be a 9 because I want everyone in the locker room to get along and 9's are best suited to make that happen.

I could also make a case, and this is a little more woowoo, for starting at first base and calling it position 1, then go around the infield as positions 2, 3 and 4 and with the outfield as 5,6 and 7. All with their Enneagram number corresponding to their baseball number. The pitcher and catcher would be 8 and 9 respectively. Hmmm, I like that a lot. Oh well, too late to change my mind, it's on to football.

My football team will be composed of all 8's except at quarterback where the 3 lives. The 7's will be over with the cheerleaders.

A Small Ordeal

A foul sort of day, rainy, blustery and of course for me, cold. Sixty something degrees.

It's a smidgen short of eleven in the morning and we've already had a small adventure.

RTGFKAR got the call at 7:30. The driver of the ARC Mandarin truck said they had arrived in Boquete and needed us to direct them further. We hopped in RTGFKAR's car and headed to the park to meet them. Loaded on the truck were our shower stalls and a couple of bathroom mirrors. We had arranged this delivery yesterday in David and although we were prepared for the early morning call, we really didn't expect the truck to be on time. They seldom are.

We made the connection and led the way to our house. The road there as some of you know is, ah, dreadful. Especially when it is raining and it was. Doing that. Hard. We crawled along over the rocks and through the mud and got the clunky looking, box truck to the site. Our goods were unloaded, checked, signed for and all seemed well. Well, that is, until the delivery truck bogged down in the mud at the turnaround spot. Alrighty then. Not to worry. Mighty Mitsu to the rescue.

RTGFKAR's car is a Mitsubishi Nativa. A four wheel drive SUV. These kind of cars are technically classified as trucks, but if you ask me - and somebody should - they are really just glorified station wagons. I wasn't sure we could help, but of course we had to try. I got the car turned around up by our house so that I could pull down the drive and park in front of the the truck. No one had a chain but the truck guys came up with a rope and we hooked on. I dropped the gears into four wheel low, eased forward and, eureka, pulled them right out! We weren't done though. The truck still had to turn around in the turnaround and when it was finally pointed in the right direction it was, ta daa, stuck again. Still not to worry, we hooked up and yanked them out anew.

The surprising thing to me apart from the car actually pulling this large truck from the mud, was the attitude of the truck's occupants, a driver and a helper. They remained cheerful and seemingly undisturbed throughout. I thought back to how I would have acted at a similar age, twenty something, and the picture I conjured of my truck stuck in the mud on a rainy day, deliveries backing up, was not that of the proverbial happy camper. I would have been, okay what's the word I need, angry. Very angry. Extremely angry. The kind of angry I never actually get at other people. It's a kind of mad anger reserved exclusively for things that don't do what they are supposed to. It's a real mad, a murderous mad. Afortunadamente,I'm better now. Age has tempered the temper. I realize that those inanimate objects that so pissed me off in the past meant well all along. They were just doing their thing, being things. So I was impressed by the truck driver and his helper's steady calmness throughout our small ordeal. Their Wah, their Zen, their evolution was far ahead of mine at a similiar age. (But then, who's isn't? Wasn't?)

None of this is what I intended to write about this morning. It's just another distraction. What I intended to write about you'll get tomorrow.

If I'm not distracted.

El Dia De Independencia

It's Independence Day II, the sequel, here in Panama. We are celebrating Panama's separation from Columbia with parades and whatnot. The whatnot, I think, is mostly drums. Later this month we will celebrate Independence Day, The Original, which is a fiesta commemorating Panama's liberation from Spain. That too will include parades and drums. Lots 'o drums. It is 8:20 in the A.M. as I write this and I can hear a steady rhythm in the background. Dumdiddy dum dum. Dump dump. Sounds like Bo Diddly on steroids.

The sun is out though. Which is to say it's here. I don't know where it goes when it's in. It's bombing us with beams as if it really intends to stay around awhile. I know better. Some time after noon Old Sol will duck for cover and a large lake in the guise of a cloud will hover above us like the alien space craft in Independence Day, The Movie. On someone or something's command, Sunny's beam bombs will be replaced by the bottom falling out of the lake; the noise of which, I might add and will, can actually drown - yup, that's the word, drown - the drumming. Too bad. After months of rain, I'll take the drumming.

I suppose I should, and you know I always do as I should, interject right here a short history of Panama's liberation from Colombia. I'm not real clear on the details, but the overall story goes something like this. Old King Jorge the Third of Colombia decided he wasn't getting enough revenue from his Panamanian Colony so he raised the taxes on coffee. This was the last straw for the Panamanios so they dumped the coffee into the Caribbean and formed a militia group called the Minuto Hombres. When Colombia sent a bunch of soldiers dressed in red coats and heavily armed with the latest in modern machete technology, the Minuto Hombres took to the mountains and hid out until Teddy Roosevelt came down from the USA and scared the redcoats away. After that there was a declaration sent to Colombia stating that Panama was an independent country and all the Minuto Hombres who were now famous founding fathers signed it. Juan Manocock signed with real large letters.

The history of Panama's separation from Spain is an equally interesting story, but a lot more complicated. Don't worry though, I'll do my usual intensive research and then get back to you with all the details. I'm pretty sure it started with bull fight protests.

Not Much Today

I'm reading a book by Osho called "Autobiography of a Spiritually Incorrect Mystic", an Elmore Leonard novel and the Sixth in the Harry Potter Series. This last in Spanish. I read Osho while we are playing Scrabble, Leonard before bed and Harry here and there. I'll finish Leonard first then move Osho into that prime reading spot as it's a borrowed book. I'll then move a new book into the Scrabble slot because Potter in Spanish requires too much concentration to play the game well. I'm thinking another P.G. Wodehouse lark. I picked one up at The Bookmark recently and I don't let P.G. lie around unread for very long. He's too funny. Why do I mention all this you say? That's easy. See the picture on the right hand side of the page? That's me and my stuff. Turns out I'm lacking the mind's proper glue and my stuff keeps falling out. No matter. Just makes room for more.

And here's another bit dribbling onto the page. I bought bags of M&M's for the Trick or Treaters last night. The kids don't actually do that trick or treat thing here in Boquete and you'd think I'd know that by now wouldn't you? Well listen up then if that's what you think. Of course I know that. What, I'm an idiot? Come on! How else am I going to justify those little bags of crunchy delight at my fingertips during Halloween Six The Revenge Of Michael Myers? I mean, you can't let them go to waste, can you?

So there you have that.