Since I haven’t updated for centuries, I’ll start simple. I had to use a can of that streaming wasp poison to get rid of a wasp construction site that broke ground this morning on the ceiling of our balcony. You know that scene in that movie where the guy has to kill the other guy, but you can read the noble reluctance on his face as he summons forth a sense of moral obligation that will flat-line his conscience just long enough to pull the trigger? That was me, except with Raid and a bug. I’m phobic of wasps (& hornets, yellow-jackets, etc.), and I believe them to be a worthy archenemy, when mutually unarmed. I hate that one of the things I’m most afraid of can be defeated by a well-aimed stream of chemicals purchased at Walmart. And I don’t like killing things.Somewhere in early August, I’ll be in the Dominican Republic building a neighborhood. I’m joining a Catholic mission group that needs a translator. The group’s goal is to build 200 homes for Dominicans living up in the mountains near the Haitian border. Some of them lost their homes to hurricane Georges, but most of them didn’t have decent homes to begin with. The foundations are already laid for the first 10, and I’ll be helping with construction. This is the light at the end of my summer.
All this talk and worry over the “drought” has brought on days and days of rain. My car is cleaner than ever, and our porch life is swelling. Matthew made me an herb garden that I go look at every 5 minutes, in case the little plants need pruning. I love the rain, and I do hope that people stop crashing into each other out there.
I’ve learned that if I try, I can sing just well enough to comfort myself. I’ve been in desperate need for modes of expression. Does it still count if you’re the only one you’re expressing at?
I’m going to enjoy the red glow of my mud-hut walls (props carly and joseph) in the cloudy wet light—maybe the basking will induce a much needed nap.
Soon.
