The Beginning Of The End Of The End Of The Beginning Has Begun

 

Bam. And just like that, dry season has arrived. Our last rain was 23 November. Prior to 23 November we had rain every single day for over a week (three inches, minimum, in a 24-hour period). We’re told that rain so late in November is unusual. What is unusual to me is that one day the rain just stops. For the first time since we moved-in in May we can see 360-degrees around our home, including all the way to the horizon of the ocean without one single cloud. Look straight ahead, there's nothing but blue sky.

And with the end of the rains the winds have arrived. Some say that this is the papagayo wind, some say not. Me? I’m inclined to agree with them. Imagine hours of sustained 40-50 mile per hour winds. Our large butterfly bush snapped in half. And we’re told by expats who have lived here for years that we’ve seen nothing yet – winds can be sustained for days at 60 miles per hour. I imagine pool furniture in the pool, along with our youngest papaya tree.

I’m not certain about how I’ll respond to months without rain. I need rain and hours of cloud cover -- it keeps me sane. Janet says that we’ll have rain around Christmas. How Janet knows this is a mystery; but I’ve never known Janet to be mistaken about anything.

I keep a calendar. A real paper calendar book. I simply cannot accept any electronic device maintaining my world (birth dates, obscure holidays, the date that the hummingbirds began to swarm, the date of the last rain). For example (and I don't need a calendar to remind me), today is World AIDS day. This may not be important to you, but to the gal who devoted years to HIV education, prevention, and patient support, it’s a really big deal. I’ll be drinking my evening cocktail from a red glass while sporting my red bandana (the only red clothing I own).

But the real point of the calendar subject is that today the countdown begins. Countdown to what you ask? Chanukah? Christmas? 2016? Well, all of those, but also to the date that Rusty flies back to Texas leaving me, Jill, and Nut-Meg alone in the house. T-minus four days, and counting. And yes, I’m counting.

Now it’s not that I don’t worship and adore my husband. It’s not that I want to live alone in Costa Rica. Really, Sally, it’s not. It’s that I envision six glorious days of not having to cook; a home that will stay clean until I, should I so choose, make a mess; and zero (0) Scotch bottles to take to the recycle center. Did I mention no cooking? I may make a lemon meringue pie and just eat pie morning, noon, and night until I’m out of lemon pie. Then I’ll move on to strawberry. Gary, Becky, he’s your problem. Oh! Did I say problem? I meant that Rusty shall be your responsibility.

But wait, it’s gets better. Less than 24 hours after Rusty returns, I leave. Six more days without cooking and cleaning Mil Colinas (I’ve got Janet lined-up to clean the house the day before I return). Six days with the Y-girls in Dallas. Can I have a hallelujah?!

Rusty and I are probably the least joined-at-the-hip married people we know. Not always, but we’ve been known to vacation separately, have completely separate friends, and certainly separate interests. Now truth be told, Rusty is probably as anxious for a break as I am. Probably. Maybe not. In any event, he’s far too wise to ever acknowledge such a notion (at least to my face).

Do I have concerns about leaving Rusty alone with his new boy-play-room? Absolutely. I could return to some welded tiki Christmas sculpture mounted on the roof. But the man is always full of surprises . . . I could also return to a finally-cleared-of-tools-and-tool-boxes terrace . . . or to a pool full of floating Dewars bottles . . . just to spite me for this post.

On a more serious note, the second cutest dog in the world is in trouble. So if you pray, please do so. There's an animal in trouble somewhere. Alert One, Alert One. Don't listen to more than the first 42 seconds of the link that is the Wonder Pets video. 

But do pray for Marley.