coasting and camping

I have started and deleted this post several times.


I started it because I wanted to record some thoughts when paradise goes a bit awry.


I have deleted it because it sounds as if I am whining about what happens when paradise goes a bit awry.


If the tone is a bit ambivalent, it is because I am, as well.


I have mentioned that living in Melaque is a bit like camping -- at least, it feels that way to those of us who have been raised in the lap of bourgeois America.


Camping experience number one today was the cooking burn. We use propane for cooking. And there is nothing wrong with propane. Its flame is every bit as good as natural gas -- my favorite cooking method.


The problem with this particular stove is that the line is so narrow, it is difficult to properly sauté. And that is what I was attempting to do on Sunday afternoon -- sauté some vegetables to accompany my scrambled eggs.


Because I could not get the pan as hot as it needed to be, the vegetables essentially ended up steaming. Because I was still flipping and stirring as if the sauté process was working, I must have left my left wrist over the pan too long. I now have a nice burn.


As I sat down to eat, I realized it had been three weeks since I last did laundry -- and I had nothing to wear to Spanish class on Monday. Literally, nothing.


Thus started camping experience number two. I divided the clothes into five separate piles and began what should have been an easy process.


I am lucky enough to have a washing machine -- something I would not necessarily have while camping. But it is not the best of machines. It is a top loader with the temperament of an eight-year old boy. And I just do not expect much from top-loading washers.


The first load caused the machine to overflow twice. I ended up having to break the load down to no more than a sheet and three towels per load.


With towels and sheets done, I went upstairs to hang the clothes to dry. And -- you guessed it. Dark clouds with thunder started rolling in. I thought I could get some things dried, but the rains started right away.


I pulled everything down. The rains stopped. I put it all back up. The rains started. Down it came again.


The house looked as if a laundry truck blew up in the living and dining rooms. Wet sheets and towels were draped over every available surface. And there are still two wet loads waiting in the laundry room. Waiting for mildew, I think.


A few things were dry. As I was folding them, I noticed that they had large blots of water here and there. The source was me. I was not just sweating; I was a river. Sweat-stained or not, the dry clothes were put away.


Just like camping.


And just like camping, the moment the rain started, the flies started doing their Fourth Plague of Egypt impression. They literally drove Jiggs and me back into the house with all of the doors closed -- because the screens do not keep them out.


All in all, Sunday's circumstances were not good. But it was not a bad day. I did read some Florence King and I had a purpose: comforting the dog that the thunder and lightning were not going to kill us.


And the rain and accompanying wind storm cleared out the humidity. For the first time in a month, Jiggs varied his walk and took us on a 2-hour jaunt through the dark streets of Villa Obregon. (At times, he seems to have the soul of a Russian novelist.) We stopped only when he tripped and reinjured his left rear leg.


I do know, though, for our next thunderstorm, we may donate the washing machine to a lightning strike.