Bonding, and not just with Elmers

I have been maddeningly unsuccessful in several attempts to get online tonight. Which means no emails, coming or going. And no way to post a new Blog entry. As usual, I’m not sure if the problem lies with my ineptitude, the Wi-Fi connection, or the pre-supper adjustments I made to get hooked up with another mail service. For a tantalizing ten minutes I was able to finally send, as well as receive emails. Now, three hours later, I seem to be entirely cut off from the outside world.

Rather than give up entirely, I have decided to click away on the keys for a while in Word, reasonably confident that I’ll be able to save and retrieve this document and paste it on my Blog page in the morning. Getting online? Just have to wait and see. For now, my thoughts are fresh and it’s been a great day. The sand man is calling to me but he’ll have to wait just a little longer.

I had stayed up too late last night struggling to find words. Fatigue had turned my brain to porridge. When I finally got to a point that could be considered a conclusion I gently closed the lap top and tip-toed silently across the courtyard to my room. Post cur, pre rooster, the place is as quiet as an empty church. Before I turned out my light I cranked up the room air conditioner. The noise of the fan helped to drown out the eventual crowing and I actually got a decent night’s sleep, even if it was a bit short. I woke up an hour before the alarm went off and used the time to reflect on the past couple of days and plan a bit for the one that lay waiting for us like an unopened gift.

In what I hope will become a regular ritual, Frank and Eric and I once again met on the terrace for breakfast. Words really cannot do justice to the tranquil beauty that we behold every morning. I will post a few pictures as soon as possible. But they will not be able to convey the sweet smells, the feel of the soft breeze, the gentle strains of the song birds, the air of expectancy and promise. We’ve only been here for three days and I already know leaving is going to break my heart.

We have become friends with another Canadian staying at El Tejado. Robert Crew, formerly of the Toronto Star. A great guy who has been sharing meals and the odd cerveza with us. He has a pretty good grasp of Spanish and has been helpful in augmenting our pathetic hand gestures. Some of the photos that I hope to post on this forum were generously given to me by Robert. He volunteered to volunteer with us today and was a welcome addition during our first real day of hands-on work at the school.

Tito joined us for a coffee on the patio and then the five of us piled into the pickup and rumbled along the bumblestone roads to the school. I happily rode sitting on the sidewall of the cargo bed, hanging onto the roll bar, getting the best view of the happy faces lining the streets, going about their business; sweeping the sidewalks and the gutters, doing laundry, filling the enormous baskets that the women carry effortlessly on top of their heads (I’ve waved the white flag on what form to ascribe to that last word. ‘Head’ singular doesn’t seem right. All the women can’t possibly share one head. But ‘heads’, plural, implies that they all might have a real problem in any area that concerns headwear, haircuts or decision-making. I welcome suggestions from any grammarians in the house), preparing food, washing their cars, playing and laughing with their children. And they all smiled warmly and said the abbreviated ‘dias’ as we drove slowly by. Every few blocks we’d encounter a horse parked by the curb being loaded up or waiting patiently for the day’s labours to begin. The pace of life in Suchitoto is tropical. And enviable.

It’s approaching the witching hour so I’m going to sum up our day with the students. The first thing we did upon arrival was drag out the massive home-made table saw from a storage room and set about making it more suitable for our purposes. Eric rewired the plug and the power box, Frank jumped into the fabrication of steel extensions and legs and I sat in the shade sipping the pina coladas I had smuggled in hidden in the pockets of my cargo pants. By the middle of the day, with the enthusiastic help of the students, we had turned an abandoned piece of dead weight into a really fine machine easily capable of accurately and safely(?)ripping all the plywood we’ll need for the construction of the stage. Eric was especially productive, working with a fascinated little group of students, teaching them how to revive a whole mess of derelict power tools found hiding in a big wooden box. In a scene resembling an updated version of an old master’s painting, the students gathered around and watched and learned and tried. Over the course of the day a pile of disembowelled routers and sanders and drills became an organized collection of functioning tools. It was magical to watch. Not just the resurrection of the broken DeWalt and Bosch tools, but the change in the relationship – from ‘us and them’ to simply ‘us’. Frank and I experienced the same transformation working with our respective, and respectful, teams. There was teaching and there was learning but there was also much more. The joking and the teasing, going in both directions, was so real and honest and trusting that I knew by three pm that the hardest part of our task is now behind us.

After school? A skyped conversation with Ed D in Stratford from the offices of Es Artes. Then pool, drinks, supper with the whole gang (tres amigos, Rob C, Tito and Tatiana) at Gringos, a ride back to the hotel in the pickup and bed for some, blog for the more foolish.