Tim has a "Dead Finger"

This post is for Tim - yes you, Tim, relaxing beachside on the hammock. Your infected finger is creeping everyone out. Sure, it happened while you were trying to catch lobsters, which in and of itself is cool, but I think you should have let the "Doctor" in Cosiguina give you a shot in the ass. BTW, stop proof-reading my posts. I'm a writer, not an editor. Shkeeesss. Go chase a pig. Love you, man!

Sure, anything could happen...

New cool finding of the day - my blog automatically adds the date on top of my post, so it is even LESS necessary for me to know the date. Yey! Technology IS my friend! I am working on a post called "How Green I Am" based on my current reading of the "Omnivore's Dilemma" and a stupid Fox news extra about a couple who planned their "Green" honeymoon in Costa Rica. But I'm way into it and want to make it special...so sit tight, man, and stop yelling at me!
Here's how today went. The boys have off today (Ramone and Juan), so I am sure that it is Sunday. Sunday's are my favorite days of all because I get to put on my farmer boots (am I obsessed with footwear, or what?!) and play farmer girl. It's around 6 am, and I decide that the pigs are wallowing in way too much pig stuff. It rained like crazy at around 4 am, and I got to thinking about Swine Flu (that's a natural progression, no?) and decided that I would let Nacatamale and Tortilla and the Sweets out for a lawn breakfast. This is an extremely bold idea. Almost as bold as me deciding to wear my nighshirt most of the day. My fave sleeping shirt is a sleeveless teal number with green turtles stitched on them. My mom gave it to me. I want to be buried in it while the Betania school plays My Way. The Sweets are 4 piglets born a little over a month ago. Technically, their names are Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Tyra Banks and Christie Brinkley. But doing a pretty good "pig call" of sweet, SWeet, SWEEt, SWEET is much easier than Brad, George, Tyra and Christie. So, I grab a cup of Esteli coffee (crack coffee we call it because it is disturbingly addictive) and head out back to the corrals. Step 1: Find a stick. Step 2: Open Gates. Step 3: get the heck out of the way - we've got 500 pounds of fun running out the door like a prison break out. Unfortunately, my plan went terribly awry after Tortilla took off through the banana orchards with the Sweets in tow. Mind you, King and Coquetta (the dogs) are just waiting for me to say, "Go ahead, kids, breakfast time!" and snatch one of the little ones for a quick treat. Everyone behaved, except for Tortilla, who is now racing full speed towards God knows what. Nacatamale is grazing nicely in the lime fields. Important note: Mike would kill me if he knew what I was up to. I'm always coming up with these animal-friendly ideas, most of which backfire terribly, so I only have a short while to get these fatties back in their pens before I have to eat the proverbial crow and say, "I know. I promise. Never again. Don't play with the lifestock. Yadda yadda yadda. How 'bout some crack coffee?" After about 20 minutes, I decide it's time to call in a professional. Tim is in the kitchen, and he used to work on a farm, so I enlist his help. To make a long story short, we chased them all over the property, and decided to use some of the breakfast slop to entice Tortilla, who is now waaay over on the edge of the property near the river. A Nicaraguan family walks by on the beach, and watches Tim (in flipflops) and me (in knee high rubber boots, shorts and a turtle embroidered nightshirt) chasing the Sweets and their momma through the river, into the woods, and near the corral. At one point, holding a bucket of stinky fish head slop with corn (breakfast of pig champions) I throw the bucket at Tim, who is yelling, "Run, Forrest, Run!!!" (remind me to fire him) and he takes off towards the banana orchards. Mental note: Never, ever, try to entice a 250 pound female pig with food in the morning before she's eaten. After about 20 minutes, we get her in the corral, Nacatamale follows suit shortly, and all is well. All this before 7 am. SAFE! Mike's still in bed. The rest of day is taken up by a few annoying rich guys who stop in for beers - they say they are looking for property down the beach. Everyone comes here with these grandiose ideas of opening up a hotel, but the fact is, only Mike and Rob are crazy enough to buy property at the end of the world (or the asshole of Nicaragua, as Luis Rafael calls it) so good luck. Eat lunch - lobster, again (can't wait until lobster season ends - I swear I'm losing my opposable thumbs and developing a meaty tail). A man and 2 women come in to go on a kayak trip (Tim runs this one, great job, remind me to rehire him). Make some money. Nice. At around 4 pm, I go downstairs to make my signature Cauliflower and Potato Soup. At that instant, Nino and Marienella (my corn farm partners) pull up with their family. 4 cars of beautiful Nicaraguans who are the most precious and kind people I have ever met. Drink beer, drink more rum and cokes, eat soup (the recipe of which comes from a vegetarian cookbook my Mom gave me too - thanks Mommy!) Juan comes by on his bike because he saw the car caravan in town. Generally, whenever there are cars in Mechapa, they're coming here. So he wanted to make sure we were OK and offer his help (mental note: give Juan a raise). It's funny here, but no matter how I try to plan my day, it is impossible. There are no rules, such as wake up at 7, eat breakfast by 7:30, get in car by 8, office by 9. Work until 5, home by 6. Dinner at 7, kiss kids goodnight. Repeat.
So the day's tally: Pigs tucked in and accounted for: 6, Swine Flu: 0, Satisfied Customers: 3, Deeper Friendships: 2, New friends: 12, Money Made: enough to make payroll Tuesday. Life is good. Maybe I'll wear my turtle nightshirt tomorrow, too!

Why proper footwear is important -- or -- the perils of wearing the wrong sandals

THURSDAY, June something. I can't remember the date. But it was yesterday, if you happen to be reading this today. This is how my day went....
I had plans to meet with Elizabeth at a friend's house in El Congo. That's where the road literally ends, and it is about 1 hour from my house. Which gives you the idea of how freakin' far I live from, well, anything remotely city-ish. God, I miss escalators. Anyway, I made these plans a couple of weeks ago, to visit a school in Chinandega. I'm not sure why I was invited, but it seemed like a good way to wear my new dress and my swanky Italian sandals (both were bought at the Used American Goods store in Chinandega, sort of like the Goodwill of Nicaragua - love that place...). So, I pile my laptop, camera, overnight clothes, my Coach handbag (a gift from Angela in Mundelein - love that too) and get into our pick-up truck knicknamed "the chariot." It's the biggest POS on the planet, but we tell our staff that we keep it because we don't want anyone to know "how rich we are" and if we drove a fancy car "somebody might want to rob us of all of our money." Yea....that's right.....that's why we keep the chariot. So, I start driving on the worst roads known to human kind (note to self: contact Toyota or Hummer to get a free truck so I can beat the heck out of it and they can make suspension and shock improvements) and 30 minutes into the ride, I can't the car into 5th gear. Which is funny, because 4th gear went out about a month ago, and it's a rare occassion that I actually go fast enough on the "world's worst road" but on this particular day, the opportunity presented itself. Needless to say, as I am rounding the corner on the "world's worst road" toward El Congo, 1st and 2nd gears poop out. Now, ironically, I am in a ditch on the side of the road, intentionally. You see, that's normal here because they pulled construction on the road, so the bridges aren't completed and you have to drive off the road, into a ditch, through water, bumping along, and then rejoin your intended direction a short ways off. So, here I am, in a ditch, cranking the chariot along in 3rd gear (I didn't know a car could smell like that!) and I get to the "driveway" which is actually what looks to be a 15 foot cliff. So, I slam it into 3rd, punch the accelerator, and get stuck on the driveway. Oops, realize reverse doesn't work either, so I slide down the mountain and land just on the road. OK, no problem. It's only a little after 8am, I'm not too late, I'll just walk up the driveway. In my dress and Italian sandals. Carrying what is turning out to be a 500 lb. suitcase (or at least started to feel that way.) Up we go, climb through barbed wire fence to shave some time off of my progress, slink along the fence, see the house. So now, I meet Elizabeth, she notices astutely that I am drenched in sweat (says she likes the dress, though :) and we hop into her BRAND NEW 2009 TOYOTA HILUX PICKUP TRUCK WITH AIR CONDITIONING AND A RADIO!! Ohmigod, I have died and gone to heaven. Get to school in Chinandega (great experience but more on that later) and a lightening storm starts at noon. OK, lunch time, flash floods in Chinandega, ankle deep in skank water (it just can't be raining this hard...can it? Oh yea, it can.) So, we drive on back to El Congo. Smooth sailing, air conditioning, CD playing...Upon arrival, Elizabeth realizes she left her laptop at the internet place and hops in the car to retrieve it. I get dropped off at the end of that godfersakin driveway, and wait for the Mechapa bus (there's only one, so timing is CRITICAL). Low and behold, Carlos in his bus pulls up 5 minutes later. I'm on my way! Just as I was settling in to what appears to be a bus from my childhood nightmare, I see a white pickup truck with Maine plates cruise by. Mike and Tim! Going to get the car, and me, hopefully. Go Gringa bersercky which scares the heck out of everyone around me, hop off the bus (neat chicken bus info: they don't stop, they just slow down....so when it seems like you can jump out the door relatively safely, they give you a nudge to "go for it." Try that in a dress and Italian sandals carrying a 600 pound suitcase). Here I am, running down the dirt road, waiving my umbrella and yelling after a white pick up truck with Maine plates, which obviously doesn't see me. OK, I'll walk. A long time....Up that godfersakin driveway AGAIN. It turns out, on the way to get the truck, Mike couldn't find the keys to the Polaris quadcycle. Honest Injun, a rat ate the leather keychain and absconded with the only key we have (rat bastard, literally.) Then, the Landcruiser, known as Elsie, got a flat on the way, and Tim took the bread truck back to Mechapa to get his truck. In case you're keeping count: 2 cars broken, 1 quadcycle. Things go a little better than anticipated, and Mike, me and Tim are in the white pickup with Maine plates, Jesus and Hoel are in the chariot, we stop to pick up the repaired tire for Elsie, have a couple of rum and cokes at a friend's house (mental note: continue to have strategically located friends on the world's worst road.) So now, we're pulling into Mechapa in not one, not two, but three cars. Those fat bastard Americans...so spoiled with all their toys. Somebody, buy me horse and cart for Christmas. I'm not giving up the sandals, though, they're finally broken in.