Yesterday there was a crash across the river behind our western mountain. I thought, landslide? But Rusty saw the big tree falling. We could hear the crashing destruction of the under-story trees and brush as the big tree fell toward the forest floor. Thirty-six hours later the monkeys are still complaining. Well, perhaps that’s too judgmental. Perhaps they’re not complaining at all. Perhaps they’re initiating a monkey recon to locate new digs. Or, perhaps their monkey tradecraft is so perfected that they maintain assets throughout the montaña, and Plan B is already in place. In any event, they’re very loud and visible today. Monkey business . . . probably not as random as it appears.
Speaking of trade craft, Rusty cleverly installed a pet door in one of the terrace screen doors. I couldn’t wait . . . simply could not, would not wait to purchase a proper door especially made for screen doors. Oh no. I just pulled the trigger and purchased the first cat-only size door that I found . . . leaving Rusty to retrofit it into our screen. I believe that wood-carving was involved, so he probably had a grand ol' time.
My nesting is almost complete. Almost. So much so that I may need to take-up Dr. Freddie's offer to volunteer with women's and children's groups. That, or start soap and candle making. Yesterday I planted ginger, birds of paradise, blah, blah, blah. . . you don't give a care, and I won't bore you. Suffice to say, the home is taking shape. Most of the artwork is hung (Rusty did that), the Africa photos are on the wall in a special place of honor surrounding some of the gifts from African chieftain pals. Yes, animal skins abound -- so sue me, PETA.
Now before I go off on my whiny tangent below, let's look at some of the came-with-me-from-the-US-and-I-refuse-to-let-'em-go items. I concede that I'm as guilty as the next expat . . . I simply don't pine for what's not here (except for that pot rack). We'll start with my Tin Tin books and posters and move on to the bed linens. Tin Tin books? I know . . . who am I to judge (keep reading). I'll tell you who I am. I'm the gal who made a show-place from a mud hut in Burkina Faso. And did it largely with locally re-purposed items.
Whoops. Someone needs a cocktail . . . maybe get out of the blog trade until someone develops a better attitude. Lo que hay.