Friday, June 8th, 2001 8:26 pm (travelsfar: 2051)
from Despina's Infamous Green Journal -- Day Seven
Day Seven -- Morning:
Up @ 5 am.
Am I ever sore! The balls of my feet ache, and I have huge blisters ready to pop on each heel. Cheryl lent me some open-backed sandals until they heal, and I am under doctor's orders NOT to be in the sun today! Thank heavens this is the day I scheduled the trip to the library. I can be inside, mostly seated, legitimately, without being though of as a shirker.
I am trying my hardest to get the hospital's image repaired for Jacques. He's already had two patients, thanks to me.
Alberto and Sarita both joined me this morning on the trip to the hospital. Sarita took to rinsing and flushing right off, but she told me Alberto is afraid of the noise the water makes when he flushes. Of course, he flatly refused to be accompanied by a woman, or to use the women's restroom. Drat those effective graphics that allow even an illiterate four-year-old to be able to tell the difference!
I'd better give Jacques a heads up so he can continue to claim "pristine" facilities. I don't know if he frequents the mens' room out here, or if there is another one inside. Surely there must be for patients... One could hardly be rolling a gurney out here in all weather!
He's probably going to be mad at me this morning. I checked myself out while everyone was asleep and drove Baby Blue Ram home. I'm not sure how he got down to the hospital, but I appreciated not having to walk home. Score one point for leaving the key in the vehicle. Some good samaritan took that as an invitation to do a good deed, not the joy ride Mick predicted would result.
I almost drove down this morning, as well, but I'm glad I didn't. The very air smells so different, so clean. It RAINED here yesterday afternoon. I mean, hard-pelting drops that would've pulped any books and papers we'd had in the classroom.
Alberto and I went for a little hike yesterday, and sort of over-did it. As I watch him race around with the digital camera, photographing everything in sight, I feel like an OLD woman. He walked even farther than I did.
For every ten or so shots that he and Sarita take, I keep one good one.
I've decided that dangerous adventures are much more romantic to read about than to live through. I can get a good mental picture without having to live with the minute by minute agony of, say, a severe sunburn, or blisters so raw one limps when trying to walk.
I've already written a lot of what's in here this morning on a piece of paper at the hospital last night, but I couldn't find it when I left this morning, so the "addendum" to my journal may or may not get added in that big blank space I left at the top of this page. It was far from sparkling prose, anyway.
Day Seven -- Sunset
I love Alice, the librarian. She is sweet, witty, helpful, knowledgeable, and not a bit prejudiced.
Paul Peter and I got really silly telling fairy tales to the kids. Town kids and Indian kids both enjoyed it, and several parents showed up, too, including Cu, who sat in on some of the fairy tales cross-legged on the floor beside Alberto.
Alberto told Alice that this was "un verano vivace", a lively summer. Cute. (All too true, too.) He got left behind in the library, but Mickey found him and caught us before we got on the gravel. He let Alberto turn on his lights and siren. I about had a heart attack, though, as I couldn't see behind me with the driver's side mirror broken off and all those huge refrigerators in the back end. I sure wasn't speeding with that load on! I was afraid one of the bigger Indian kids had fallen overboard, or something. The kids loved the hoopla, however, especially Alberto.
The refrigerators have arrived, and some are even cleaned up. Saturday is "paint" day. They want to paint badly enough that getting them to clean the rest of them up shouldn't be a problem...
Mickey gave me a cell phone so I can call in case of further adventures. It was a sweet gesture. (My second one from a man in the same week! Be still, my heart!) I promised him I'd stay within sight of the village or the road unless I had an Indian guide OLDER than four. The arroyo I climbed into to "rescue" Alberto is nicknamed "Man Eater" because a rock hound died in it during a flash flood. I'm sure glad I did NOT know that yesterday when we were trapped down there, and I could hear the sound of the water coming.
I have a confession to make. When I tried to read what I had written, I do have to admit that Paul Peter's comments about how no paragraphing made the journal hard to read are accurate. At the time, I reacted indignantly, as though his criticism was unjust. Looking back, I see paragraphs on occasion, but rather than being the result of conscious forethought, they more frequently occurred because I had reached a spot requiring some more thought, and in repositioning my sweaty fingers on the paper, created an oily spot where the ink would not stick. That's not a very good reason for making a new paragraph. I've been trying to remember to use them when I KNOW ahead of time that I'm going to change topics, places, people doing the action, or have a time gap, but, of course, only true editing will result in a good job.
I can't see the lines any more, and Paul Peter is eying this Green Journal hungrily, so I guess that's all for now. I can't remember if I've started a new one since we were an "item", or not.
I'm ready to just drop off to sleep, right here, on the sand, with a half rotten log for a pillow.
Last updated 10/23/11 - added line about key. 4/25/02.