The good ones go if you wait too long, so you should go before you stay too long. — Dustin Moya
Wednesday, August 8, 2012 (DAY 157)
Awaking from another confusing night of dreams that centers around the girl that is so affectionately referred to as shmurnt, I continue to know that I need to let her go. My hope that this may be the last night I am haunted by her face–walking away from her in my dream, even when I am awake the thought has a large degree of sadness. Attempting to shake the previous nights memory from my thoughts, it is just after 7am, and Marc and I are getting ready for the walk up to the special needs school. Having the relaxed freedom of confiding in my English consigliore, I share with him the morning’s thought that weighs heavy upon my mind, and being the great friend that he is, tells me what I already know, and that is I need to let her go completely. Lingering on this constant thought that is easier said than done, I am prepared to let what needs to happen occur and look forward to the distraction of spending time with the kids. Unfortunately, as we reach the small light blue building where the van picks us up, there is already a large group of volunteers waiting and we are unable to spend the next four hours doing what we both have a passion for. Who would have thought that there could be too many volunteers? Unfortunately for us, the director of the program has warned us of this possible scenario. Since the school, which is a single classroom, is a small space, only so many people are allowed to volunteer with the fifteen students that make up the school and often university, church, and other groups will come to volunteer for a short term basis, which leaves us without the opportunity to spend time there on those particular days. Distraught from this, we are unsure what to do with our morning since it is not even 8am yet. Turning around we walk back to the hostel, and find ways to escape the heat. Since this morning we have power, I decide to catch up on much of my journaling that often gets placed on the backburner, and I am thankful to have this therapeutic outlet.
Awaking from another confusing night of dreams that centers around the girl that is so affectionately referred to as shmurnt, I continue to know that I need to let her go. My hope that this may be the last night I am haunted by her face–walking away from her in my dream, even when I am awake the thought has a large degree of sadness. Attempting to shake the previous nights memory from my thoughts, it is just after 7am, and Marc and I are getting ready for the walk up to the special needs school. Having the relaxed freedom of confiding in my English consigliore, I share with him the morning’s thought that weighs heavy upon my mind, and being the great friend that he is, tells me what I already know, and that is I need to let her go completely. Lingering on this constant thought that is easier said than done, I am prepared to let what needs to happen occur and look forward to the distraction of spending time with the kids. Unfortunately, as we reach the small light blue building where the van picks us up, there is already a large group of volunteers waiting and we are unable to spend the next four hours doing what we both have a passion for. Who would have thought that there could be too many volunteers? Unfortunately for us, the director of the program has warned us of this possible scenario. Since the school, which is a single classroom, is a small space, only so many people are allowed to volunteer with the fifteen students that make up the school and often university, church, and other groups will come to volunteer for a short term basis, which leaves us without the opportunity to spend time there on those particular days. Distraught from this, we are unsure what to do with our morning since it is not even 8am yet. Turning around we walk back to the hostel, and find ways to escape the heat. Since this morning we have power, I decide to catch up on much of my journaling that often gets placed on the backburner, and I am thankful to have this therapeutic outlet.
After a great session of writing, I can hear the pool calling my name. I can also hear what many of you think, why are you swimming in a pool when you have a beach just five minutes away? Well, the answer is convenience, and the fact that being covered in sand is not nearly as pleasant as you think. And trust me, I’ve been to the beach enough times both in SJDS and throughout the past five months that I am sure to have filled the beach quota for a lifetime for any Colorado native. Talking with Stephen, a good ole Massachusettes boy that relocated to San Diego, we are both keeping a close eye on the time as we plan to head upstairs and catch Team USA take on Australia. While I am lounging on the edge of the pool reading, he announces that it’s 3pm and we excitedly head upstairs only to find that of all 99 channels made available to us, the only Olympic event that is being televised is women’s boxing. Crushed by this reality, we sit and take in several minutes watching Brazil and Russia duke it out. Depressed with our efforts, we climb out of our hammocks and head back down to the pool. I know as you read this you are just as disappointed with our secondary option as we are. The night however, is a celebration. Alix’s birthday brings her an amazing family dinner that is complete with steaks. Yes, steaks! It has been far too long since I’ve indulged in a piece of mouth-watering beef, and faintly in the background I can hear the Beef, It’s What’s For Dinner song playing at full orchestra. The feast also includes, garlic grilled shrimp, rice, guacamole, salad, bread, peppers, and, of course a slab of sirloin. Eating this delicious meal is shameful as forks are a rarity at our hostel and our attempt at eating our steaks with butter knives and spoons is just another challenge of life in Nicaragua. When I pause and think between bites, I feel as though not only have I eaten healthier since I left the States, but that the meals are even that much better than when I was living the lowly bachelor lifestyle absent of cooking lessons that did not include Stove Top. Oh, the red cardboard box, that Andrea and I would covet whenever we could share this as part of any meal. Tuna fish sammiches…and Stove Top. Sushi with red wine…and Stove Top. Plain Cheerios out of a plastic bag…and Stove Top. Wedding cake…and Stove Top. When is this delicious processed food not an acceptable part of any meal? I really should be sponsored by Stove Top for all of the wonderful and authentic things I have to say for their magically delicious chief that created such a gift to the American public. Returning from my gluttonous rant, our meal in Nicaragua is certainly the best we have put together for this special night for Alix. She continues to tell Stephen (her fiancée), Marc, and myself that we truly made her birthday an occasion to remember. After the waterworks in the flood of tears and a group hug is completed, we relax with food babies around the pool.
The night is almost perfect, that is until I make a very large blunder causing my heart to momentarily stop. Walking to the fridge to grab a Coke, the combination of tripping over a laptop power cable while simultaneously opening the fridge door causes the computer to come crashing to the cement floor. The laptop is Marc’s and it has already seen its share of casualties. Jumping up with a look of shear panic on his face, Marc races to his computer that is now hanging by a thread. Sharing the feeling of horror that is on his face I cannot help but feel awful at what I just caused. Thankfully the computer is still working in spite of one of the clips that holds the monitor together has gone missing. Searching high and low we are crawling on our hands and knees to locate the small plastic piece, when, what else, the power goes out and we are all in the dark. After twenty long minutes, we call off the search, when we find the missing piece has disappeared into the computer itself, and was wedged in the opening that was caused upon impact. Apologizing with as much angst as I can for this huge mistake, once everything has calmed down, Marc is able to catch his breathe as well, and after some time passes we are able to return to a more relaxed pace of the night that ends in laughter, and I cannot be more thankful for such an understanding friend. It is the actions that we display in times of adversity that demonstrates our character, and I know that there is this true character in my great friend Marc.
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