These Eyes...

Work on the modular stage is on schedule, if such a word exists in El Salvador (I say that with sincere affection), to meet our self-imposed deadline of Friday the 26th. Provided we line up a biggish (I'm shocked Spell Check didn't yell at me for that one!) truck to haul the units over to the chapel at the Arts Centre, the new stage should be assembled and tagged together by Happy Hour. That's the Canadian optimist in me speaking. We'll see.

The portable ticket/information booth is virtually complete. We had discussed various roof treatments, but in the end we opted for a slatted look - not indigenously correct or at all waterproof but certainly cheaper, easier, quicker and, most importantly, lighter than the other options. Tomorrow we begin construction of the masking panels needed to block some of the late afternoon sun from streaming through the side doors of the chapel and consternating the lighting contingent. Mike and Mel, you owe us a beer.

After work today and a brief meeting with Tatiana, we tumbled into the pool. A gentle breeze blowing across the surface of the water actually made us feel, dare I say it?, cool. Following the refreshing swim, with the delicate touch of a safe cracker, I was able to finesse the shower controls into delivering a welcome hot water rinse.

It was during our regular pre-dinner gathering at Chomba's on the Square, where the members of Es Artes often congregate at dusk in that lingering moment between Tarde and Noche, that I embarrassed myself. Seated next to Tatiana, I was attempting to explain to her how Mario, the talented metalworker from Escuela Taller who had the run-in with the prop pig, had quietly given Frank a wallet he had made. The two have become close friends during the past two weeks; much of their bond is based on Frank's patience and generosity in sharing with Mario some of his knowledge hard won over a lifetime of transforming inarticulate steel into art. Stroll past the Elizabethan Garden in front of the Festival Theatre and take a close look at the life-size stainless steel William Shakespeare poised with silver quill in hand. Or the magnificent steed in the courtyard outside Stratford General Hospital. Each of them speaks eloquently of Frank's genius.

I was doing alright with the genesis of the gift. However, I suddenly ran into serious trouble when I began to describe the inscription carved into the wallet. My throat closed and my eyes filled with tears that I couldn't will away as I tried to repeat the simple words, written with such purity and honesty.
Para My Friend Frank,
de Mario
I know we may be teaching these kids valuable skills, but we're learning so much more.