Although the fish pond and waterfall are coming along admirably, we've had a lot rain and sorrow the last week and a half. Doc and Charly lost Gustavo, their beloved red cocker spaniel, last week. Doc says it best in his own blog:

Gustavo was a serious little guy. He went about his job of being the family dog with purpose and intent. He was not, you know, just some silly puppy. He was a real dog, he seemed to say, and he wanted to be treated with the respect a real, meaning, big, dog would get. From the time I opened the door in the morning to let him out until he and I "walked the perimeter" at night to chase away whatever needed chasing away, he was all business. There was serious dog stuff to do everyday and he was just the dog to do it. Even playtime, when he would bring his stuffed Garfield and drop it at the feet of whichever of us he decided should play tug-of-war was done with a kind of "this is important stuff" attitude on his part. It was as if he were consciously entertaining us and not the other way around. He was loyal and dedicated to our little "pack" and was most content when we were all together. He could relax then, hang out and not worry about an absent member. Gus was, though, almost from the beginning, my dog. Whether he designated me "alpha", as dog trainers like to put it, or whether it was because I took him for long walks and frequent car rides, his favorite things in life and, with him along, a couple of my favorites as well, he became my second shadow. I grew, over his four short years, very accustomed to having him close at hand and always felt vaguely uncomfortable when he was not. I think Charly felt the same. For that reason, she and I made it a practise to take Gus with us whenever and wherever dogs were allowed. Nothing would put more sparkle in his eyes and move his stumpy tail to wag then hearing Charly say "you gedda go, you gedda go" as we walked to the car. And conversely, nothing would make his whole body sag and droop more than when we told him he had to stay home. At those times, we drooped a little ourselves. When he did "gedda go" Gus would prop himself happily on the back seat with his fore paws on the console between the front seats. This gave him a windshield view and enabled him to get to the serious business of warning other critters away. We were never able to cure him of growling ferociously at whatever beast we happened to drive by. After awhile we just quit trying. What the heck, it only lasted a couple of seconds and it seemed to make him so happy. With Gus, serious and happy went hand in hand. I have written several blogs about Gus, mostly humorous accounts of dog and man that I'm sure Gus would take issue with had he been able to read. Silliness, he would no doubt point out, is a human trait, and he was a dog. Dogs he would say, are serious creatures. Then he would roll on his back and wait for the tummy rub. Gus passed away a couple of night's ago at veterinary hospital in David where we had taken him for treatment of an undetermined illness. The vet said he died of a heart attack related to a heart ailment, probably an inherited condition. There is nothing wrong with my own ticker that I know of, despite the ache of loss that surrounds it. It is where Gus lives now, and always will.

And, in a later blog:

Woowoo Charly, RTGFKAR (Ramon, the Gringo Formerly Known As Raymond) and Yers Trewly are going about the business of getting used to being Gusless. It's a slow business. We keep seeing him in our minds eye in all those day to day moments when we would interact. Play time, feed time, walk time, treat time, bed time, spontaneous mess with the dog time. He's everywhere. But, of course, he's not. We are getting better though. We are able to talk a little about him now without breaking into sobs. We are even making plans to do this and that instead of just mope-ing around the house. Today we were going to play golf if it hadn't rained. It's October though. Rain is a regular feature. Our back up plan is movie rentals. I'm thinking something loud and heroic. Batman maybe, or Indiana Jones. Certainly nothing sad or soppy. It's a process, this grieving thing. We know that. And we know that grief will eventually fade and be replaced by something better. Good memories of happy times. It's a process. A damned, fucking, slow process.

Gus was dear to us, too, and we really miss him. He was, as Doc said, a very special dog. In fact, we came to meet Doc and Charly on a visit here prior to our move because of Gus. We were having lunch at a restaurant by the river when Doc and Charly arrived with Gus, only a puppy then. I got up and began playing with him, and a lasting friendship was born.

I'll write something more upbeat soon. As Doc says, we'll get through this--and the rainy season.

Steve is back!

We're in the middle of the third week of construction on the waterfall and fish pool. This time Cesar has deigned to have a helper (his brother, as it turns out, whom he can and does harangue mercilessly for not performing up to Cesar's exacting standards), so things are moving along at a somewhat brisker pace than did the Great Wall of Palo Alto. Once again, they are largely unhampered by the daily rainfall (October is the rainiest month here), devising ingenious if primitive methods of covering themselves and the cement work. Today Joel, the brother, was observed sitting on the ground beneath a sheet of corrugated tin propped up by sticks, while Cesar was clad in an oversize garbage bag. Steve was on site, too, erecting and welding a large trellis on the side of the garage to support a flowering vine (petrea volubilis). While he was here, we spotted a couple of other places on the house crying out for trellises and flowering vines, much to Larry's consternation. He confessed his fear that we're never to be without a surround of workmen, tramping over his beloved sod. It could be. One things leads to another, you know.

We celebrated Larry's and Charly's birthdays Saturday night with a food and drink fiesta. We hosted, in addition to the usual cast of characters, a number of Panamanian friends, new and old, mostly neighbors and service providers. We reasoned that it's always wise to stay on the best side of the water administrator, the liquor store salesclerk, the plumber, the electrician, and, most of all, the TV man. The latter is a regular fixture at our house inasmuch as the touching of just one incorrect button on the remote control throws everything out of whack in a way that is correctible only by a 15- to 18-step process that neither of us--or any of our friends--have mastered. Luis, the TV man, paid us back by drinking and eating copiously, as did his assistant, Fernando, when he wasn't putting the moves on Michelle, the liquor store clerk. The dogs played so long and hard with Jose and Dharma, the daughter of one of my Panamanian students of English, that they slept past their feeding time Sunday morning.

I never got back to Paradise Gardens for pictures, but I found three on The Boquete Guide, an internet news organ developed by a local ex-pat, which I have pirated and am including.

I'll post pictures of the water feature when it's completed. It's off to bed now because Steve and I set out early in the morning for an all day plant-hunting expedition.

News from Boquete

I have involuntarily embarked on a new undertaking: teaching English. A couple of weeks ago Graciela, the girlfriend of Dexter (who, you may remember from my earliest e-mails is the Carmel, California surfer/carpenter who lives in the casita behind the house we rented while waiting for our house to be built), telephoned and asked whether I would be willing to conduct classes in English for her and a girlfriend or two. I wasn't keen on the idea, particularly inasmuch as teaching English as a second language is a whole discipline in and of itself and with which I have not a whit of familiarity, but, not knowing how to say "no" without appearing uncaring, reluctantly agreed to give it a try. She and Kelly, the wife of another gringo whom we know, Peter, came for the first lesson today. (Another girlfriend joined us on Friday for an organizational meeting, but she knows much less English than Graciela and Kelly and apparently has dropped out as she was a no-show today.) They were eager to make it a several-times-a-week undertaking, but I explained that preparation for classes would take several hours and that I therefore could commit to only one day a week. They agreed to Tuesdays from 1:30 to 3:00 but stayed today until 3:30 and left then only because Dexter telephoned Graciela to report that his van had broken down somewhere about two hours distant.

I spent about six hours preparing: writing out "lessons" and running downtown to have them copied. Anxiety-ridden, I dreaded their arrival. But everything went exceedingly well. Because they have a very personal interest in learning how to better communicate with their partners, they are eager learners and have lots of questions. Both are very personable, so we had fun as well as accomplishing a great deal. It goes without saying that I'm improving my Spanish as well.

The big news on the home front is that Derek and I are going to China in December, Hong Kong and Beijing to be exact. Last summer Derek and Jill attended a conference in the northeast where a number of trips were offered for auction by a travel agent benefactor of the organization. As somewhat of a lark, they bid $5000 on a one-week China trip, and won. In the meantime, Derek and Jill have parted ways, amicably, and Derek was left with a trip and no companion. I'm flattered that he asked me to stand in (although there may have been ulterior motives related to extra money which likely will be required). So I've been deeply involved in making airline reservations to the States and back, to Panama City and back, for hotels in New Orleans and Panama City, and for obtaining a Chinese visa (problematic because there's no Chinese embassy in Panama). I'm slowly getting it all worked out with the help of Anavilma, a very warm (she kissed me both upon my entering and leaving her office) and resourceful travel agent here in Boquete. I leave on December 10th for a couple of days in Lafayette with Derek and the dogs, we leave for China on the 14th from New Orleans, we return to New Orleans on the 22nd, and I'll be back in Boquete on Christmas Eve. My main concern is that I have NO clothes that fit and insufficient funds and inclination to purchase a new wardrobe.

Work has yet to begin on the waterfall and fish pond. Steve is up to his you-know-what in alligators (and fer de lances and other nuisances) at their place in Chorcha. George, the electrician, who has been working with him there, dropped by this morning to report that the road is virtually impassable because of rain, that the only electricity they have is a generator because it will cost a prohibitive $60,000 to run wires, that they managed to get a pump for running water installed barely a week ago, that they're all living and sleeping in one room, etc., etc. Workers are abandoning them right and left because of the oppressive conditions. That being the case, I certainly haven't been aggravating him with any of my quotidian demands.

I took a couple of hours off and went to Paradise Gardens Sunday a week ago. In addition to the two ocelot kittens, Paul and Jenny have now acquired, from some local indigenous persons, i.e., Ngobe Bugle indians, a baby sloth which is absolutely, without a doubt the cutest animal I have ever seen. (I didn't think anything could be cuter than a baby kinkajou.) I neglected to take my camera this time, and lost some great pictures of the ocelot kittens and other animals when my computer crashed, but I'm determined to return later this week for whatever photo opportunities might avail themselves. I'll send them on.

Further adventures: getting a haircut in Boquete

I was bragging only last week about not having been sick since arriving in Panama a year and a half ago. That brought on, upon awakening Saturday morning, the mother of all colds. My chest is congested, my head is congested, the area between my nose and upper lip is raw, the house sounds like a tuberculosis ward; you get the picture. So this morning, instead of greeting the day with my usual good humor and high expectations, I have been ruminating, in my debilitated state, on things that have gone wrong. I've mentioned many of them, I know, the petty frustrations in particular, but I haven't related a particular ongoing one: getting a haircut.

When we arrived, it was windy season, and my long, offswept bangs were more offswept than desirable. I turned first to my good friends Charly and Jane, who enthusiastically recommended Roxanne, conveniently located on the main street downtown. I went to see her (no appointment necessary, I was told) and found her engaged in a protracted coloring job. Having nothing in particular to do, I waited in a room filled with magazines in Spanish and eventually received a haircut. It was nothing to write home about, but it was serviceable, and Roxanne, though harried and not particularly amiable, seemed okay. So, I returned three or four weeks later to find her too engaged to fit me in. Returning the next day, she was similarly occupied and, without so much as a hello, pushed me off on a male haircutter in her shop. He scalped me. Larry teased me all week, as did various friends.

I heard from someone that there was an excellent haircutter at the more upscale salon in the new Los Establos Plaza. I dropped in and was told, although everyone was sitting around twiddling their thumbs, that an appointment would be necessary. I made an appointment and returned the next day to see Ronnie, a Scot married to a Panamanian woman. He was very chatty, but I understood less of what he said than I generally understand the locals. Neverthless, the haircut was pretty good, so I returned. A couple of times he didn't show up at my appointment time, allegedly having had to do some work on their farm (this information was relayed without apology), and on other occasions his cell phone didn't work, making appointments a chore in itself. But I stuck with him until he abruptly decided to return to Scotland for a year (to make some money).

Adrift again, I consulted my neighbor, Penny Ripple, who always looks like she dropped into Boquete off Fifth Avenue, and she recommended an American, John Marks. (She mentioned that he charges $15 as opposed to Panamanian $4, but she assured me that he was worth it, noting that she had been pleased with Ronnie for a while but that her style had "fallen off" after a while.) I called John and found him to be in Bocas housesitting for a friend. At the time he was to return, he decided instead to return to the U.S. to call on his ailing mother.

Keep in mind that I never started searching for a stylist before my hair was so far gone as to be embarrassing, so all the delays were giving me a positively feral look.

So I went back to Los Establos, where I made an appointment with Miriam, who was doing absolutely nothing at the time but insisted on gazing at her appointment book, largely blank, and "fitting me in" three days hence. The first cutting was fine--hell, anything was an improvement at that point--so I stopped by again in several weeks to make a second appointment, their telephone being consistently busy. When I arrived at the appointed time of 9:00 a.m., the shop wasn't open. I sat outside over a cup of coffee for twenty minutes or so until another of the stylists arrived, unapologetically, and went to open the door. Alas, she had left her keys at home. A second stylist arrived shortly thereafter, also without keys. One of them left for home and keys, apparently a long trip inasmuch as it took 45 minutes. Eventually, I received a haircut.

The third time I visited Miriam, she announced that they were closing the shop because the rent was too high in Los Establos. She didn't know where they would be relocating, but she took my phone number and said she would call with the information. When no call was forthcoming, I once again turned to Penny Ripple, who enthusiastically recommended Flory, on the second floor of the Don Andres building.

I dropped by the next day and, after some searching and questioning, finally came upon Flory's unmarked shop. She was very friendly and gave me a decent (not to say good) haircut, so I had the foresight to make another appointment in three weeks. When I arrived, she wasn't there, but her assistant, who was busy sweeping the floor, called her on her cell phone and she arrived within half an hour. I was not so lucky on my third visit, however. This time she was nowhere to be found, and the assistant explained, without apology, that she was attending a funeral. I waited a while, but Panamanian funerals involve a long church service and then a procession through town to the cemetery (tying up traffic for an eternity), so it was in vain. I decided that I had been pushed around enough and wasn't going to take it anymore.

A few days later Steve's wife Michelle showed up with a stunningly flattering haircut. Upon questioning, she said she had dropped into a barber shop up from Melo's, the feed and fertilizer store, and had seen the younger of the two men there. Filled with new hope, I ventured there myself days later, was swept into a chair, and, without any fuss or conversation, was given a haircut no better or worse than others I had received. Charge: $2.50. I've been going there ever since without incident. I'm just waiting for him, whatever his name is, to fall victim to the plague or be run over by a taxi. (Larry's first barber, Jaime, to whom he was inexplicably attached, dropped dead within a few months of Larry's first visit.)

My computer's hard drive crashed last week and I lost all my pictures. I feel too bad to go outdoors to take some, so this missive will be photograph free.

Bonnie

Perfect Weather for Gardening

We're gently moving into the rainy season. Days are mostly beautiful until 3:00 or 4:00, when we have rain--some days a little; some days a lot. (I finally understand why Cesar and Edwin start work at 7:00 or 7:30.) We've been busy rooting new plants, from existing and thriving plants, in small plastic bags that are sold everywhere for that very purpose. Cesar has completed a ramp up the back hill and a cement sidewalk to the orchid house, has almost completed the big staircase up the same hill adjacent to the mirador, and has cemented rocks along the edges of the pathways which will contain gravel. (The cost of cement has almost doubled in the last six months, so plans had to be changed accordingly.) Steve and family have taken a two-week trip to Cuba, planned long before their tortuous move to Chorcha, but he promised to begin the waterfall and fish pool soon after their return.

Prices of property and construction are steadily rising in Boquete. A .6 acre lot a little ways up and across our road is advertised at $239,000. Five years ago we paid $65,000 for our 1.25 acre spread on a river. More remote locations up in the hills sell for less, but it's still a staggering increase. Acquaintances who currently are building were quoted prices roughly double what we paid, due largely to the increase costs of building materials and gasoline. The latter is a major concern because of the necessity of making the 28 mile trip to David for most major building supplies.

Boquete is coming of age, however. We're steadily getting more services, the latest being a pet grooming salon, "Best in Show." Manned by Roberto, an enthusiastic stylist, it features nail grinding and fancy skin treatments in addition to the regular shampooing and clipping. Chyna and Trudy and have been once and are due to return tomorrow. They don't need clipping, of course, so we got the full treatment, including treatment for a skin fungus that we didn't recognize, for $9 each. They smelled like flowers for about four days. Doc and Charly's cocker, Gustavo, was prettified for $11.

Randy and Maryellen stayed with us for a week, so the guest quarters are fully broken in now. Not only did I have two more mouths to feed at noon every day, but we managed to put on two dinner parties during their stay. One was just for the seven of us (including Doc, Charly, and Ramon), but the second, for Ramon's birthday, was for thirteen. Fortunately, Maryellen is energetic and helpful.

The day after Randy and Maryellen left to return to their sailboat in Bocas del Toro, our neighbors arrived, with two children in tow, from Daytona Beach, so we've been busy helping them with all sorts of information and guidance. In the meantime, there have been ongoing efforts to buy and install a generator, add some gutters, have more furniture made, etc.

Speaking of furniture, we needed something for storage in the garage and engaged Dario, who had done excellent work for Steve as well as all the cabinets at Ramon's house, to construct a long, low cabinet for storage of tools, fertilizer, etc. He came by, measured, took money for supplies, and said he would return with the piece in a month. Five weeks later he showed up with a gorgeous six-foot long cabinet : beautifully stained, paneled doors, fancy hardware, trim. We were so stunned that we didn't know what to do or say and therefore stood by while he moved it (with the help of three other men) into the garage. After looking at it for a few days, we conceded that it didn't belong there and, again with massive manpower, relocated it to the greatroom. It's stunning there--just the size for that big room. It looks like a piece of very, very expensive store bought furniture, for which we paid $700. (We went to David and bought stainless steel shelves for the garage.)

There are ongoing wildlife adventures. Trudy caught a rabbit in the backyard and brought it into the house, and both Chyna and Trudy manage to catch a bird from time to time. There clearly are snakes in the big rocks out back (we've found snakeskins four and five feet long), and I worry that the dogs are going to encounter them sooner or later. They nose around the rocks constantly in search of lizards. I saw a coatimundi bound out of the orchid house at dusk one afternoon, and we hear lots of mammal-like sounds down toward the river. Paul and Jenny at Paradise Gardens have two new ocelot kittens, two new howler monkey infants, and lots of baby coatis that have been orphaned. They nurture them back to health, rehabilitate them, and return them to the wild.

Yahoo and Maisie (Paul and Jenny's first howler) are now happily ensconced at Steve and Michelle's place in Chorcha where, although they have a fancy monkey house, they run free most of the time. They have attracted the attentions of a male howler from the jungle, who visits them regularly, and, although Michelle reports that they're very friendly with him, they haven't seen fit to leave home and join the troop yet.

I have an obligatory trip to David tomorrow for a visit with Fatima, our lawyer, and to buy landscaping fabric for the paths in the back that will be covered with gravel. So it's off to bed.

Starting off a new month

Things are picking up around here. Randy and Maryellen are back from months of sailing (but only for about a week), Dan and Kay have returned from their birding trip to Bhutan, Alan is back from the States, and the neighbors are due from Daytona Beach shortly. Cesar has returned at last and is working on steps and pathways in the back, and Steve promises to resume work on the waterfall and fish pond if he ever gets his family moved to Chorcha. Samuel has built me curtain rods for the guest room and a beautiful flower box which is mounted on the wall on the terrace. He currently is working on a headboard for one of the rooms and then will move on to two or three tables for the same rooms. We finally purchased a big stainless steel storage rack for the laundry room, so I'm actually able to move about in there. Today is Larry's golf day--ergo, my dia de libertad.

Last fall I dutifully attended the Tuesday morning expat meeting at which there was to be a learned presentation on Panama's labor laws (which are as complex as everything else official is here.) Most of it thoroughly confused me, but I did take away one meaningful bit of information: when workers work all day, the employer is expected to feed them lunch. We have Demaris two days a week to clean house, Juvenal two days a week to mow and weed, and Edwin two days a week to garden. Ergo, I feed them those days--plus another day for Edwin when he's working next door. I made the mistake of cooking up a full, hot meal in the beginning. All three were exceedingly grateful and praised my cooking skills to the hilt. Edwin says I'm the "numero uno cocinera," and he says it often, patting me on the shoulder; Juvenal's eyes light up at mealtime, and he dutifully clears the table for Demaris and me and gives me a kiss on the cheek to boot. So what's a woman to do in the face of all this flattery? Cook. Five days a week I cook all morning and spend considerable time otherwise planning menus and laying in supplies. And all three can really eat. Two platefuls is the norm.

One week I was in a time bind and made sandwiches. They were gracious, but the disappointed looks on their faces broke my heart. So it's back to full course, hot meals Monday through Friday. I griped about it to Jane, who looked at me in astonishment and said that their workers bring their own lunches. "No es el costumbre," she admonished. But I'm caught now. The only good thing is that Larry and I have our main meal during the day, leaving me a somewhat freer evening, and I guess it's better for our weight that we eat lightly at night. But it's ironic that I'm working so hard for the workers. Larry has pointed out, however, that they're not likely to leave us anytime soon because they look forward to eating so much. Around the table is also a good time for bonding, for getting to know them better, and for practicing my Spanish skills.

We get rain almost every afternoon now, so the plants are really beginning to fill out. I got my first gardenia blooms last week, and virtually all the hibiscus are flowering like crazy. The palms are a bit slower to take off, but I'm seeing positive signs even there. This time next year it should look like a reasonably mature garden.

I'm off to the terrace to prop up my feet and read a book--after I feed Edwin.

Update from Boquete, Panama

We're chilling out, watching the FSU/Wichita final game. I got out this morning and took some pictures and will be attaching a few.

No big news since my last post. We had dinner again at Steve and Michelle's last night: another banquet of about a dozen dishes. There was beef curry, a Thai chicken dish, almonds sauteed in syrup, stuffed grape leaves, a fancy rice, many dips, many appetizers, many different breads, and ribs off the grill. We also met some new people, mostly from Great Britain, including a retired undercover cop from Manchester who had lots of interesting stories. Paul and Jenny brought their new resident of Paradise Gardens: a three-week-old howler monkey abandoned by its mother that has to be fed every two hours. We all took turns cuddling and feeding him. Jenny makes his "nappies" (she and Paul and British) out of paper towels.

Steve and Michelle sold their house at last and must be out by the end of the month. So they're frantically trying to put up some type of abode on their property in Chorcha. Ergo, he hasn't started on the waterfall and fish pool yet. In the meantime, Edwin is really whipping the garden into shape, being freed of weedeating and mowing by Juvenal.

We had Juvenal's birthday party at our house about two weeks ago. He made an excellent chicken dish, and Demaris and her clan came with potato salad and rice. The chicken was so delicious that I demanded that Juvenal show me how to cook it, so, when he and Demaris were here working on Thursday, he prepared lunch for us. I thought I had all the ingredients but had forgotten cilantro. No problem, he said, and ran out and found some in the garden that I didn't know I had. I made the rice dish, Demaris a fancy salad, and the dogs helped out by being constantly underfoot. Juvenal remarked that it is fortuitous that we have a large kitchen.

Larry was down for over a month with an inflamed sciatic nerve. We tried our friend Roady who is a chiropractor, our friend Mary Ellen who is a massage therapist, but finally went to David to see a neurologist. He gave Larry a prescription anti-inflamatory and codeine for the pain--cost: $40. Larry couldn't withstand the codeine so took only one dose, but the anti-inflammatory got him through the worst of it. He hasn't been able to play golf for a month but plans to return Tuesday. I'm gladder than he is.