I came by the Hogar this Sunday to take the kids’ shoe size measurements because the Palmerola Military Base is donating shoes for all the kids: as well as backpacks for the school age children.  The US soldiers also built our chicken pen paying the cost out of their own pockets.  Daniel decided to take my picture on his mom’s cell phone while I was taking pictures of the recent improvements.  A donation of $500 accomplished all the above.  In two weeks the Virginia Health Center will finance the building of the wood platforms for the installation of a water filtration system so that the kids can have potable water to drink.  Day after tomorrow I leave for Tegus early (6AM) for what I hope will be my last dental appointment.  We continue to move forward against all odds.  More about that later….

We harvested the first ears of corn from our milpa today for lunch.  Enough for the 22 Hogar San Jose residents and the volunteer workers putting up the metal posts that will support the metal laminas that will serve as a roof to protect from the sun and rain.  With the $500 that was donated by former PCV Nick Wobbrock and his family and Dan Tiedge of the Virginia Health Center, Sister Edith was able to purchase the materials to continue our renovation of the premises and solicit the volunteer help to make it happen.  In addition the alcaldia donated the labor and materials to replaster and paint the kitchen and dining room area and the entryway.  While all this activity occurs, life goes on: ergo the four youngsters waiting for bath time before lunch and the fresh corn on the cob.

A three-tooth permanent bridge, when it fails, is removed from its foundation by cutting it into three pieces with a high-speed drill.  I sat in the dentist’s chair for three hours yesterday for the second time in a month while a different dentist sawed the second bridge from my head.  The replacement bridge I had waited a month for and that was installed last Friday lasted one day.  Saturday night after dinner I sat watching television happily eating peanuts when I suddenly felt a familiar sensation.  A peanut had factured my day-old bridge!  It was obvious that the first dentist, a male, had been less than diligent installing my first replacement bridge.  It was more than obvious that the second dentist, a female, was thorough and fastidious and very professional.  The first guy hadn’t taken a single Xray.  The lady took three.  The first guy sent the tooth impressions to Guatemala for the bridge construction.  The lady is having my new bridge made in Tegucigalpa at a laboratory near her office.  My new bridge should be ready in one to two weeks.  I expect to be happily eating peanuts again shortly.

The last week in January I traveled to La Masica to visit with friends I worked with during my three-month residence in that small municipalidad.  My first day there I stayed with my Canadian friend, Bob.  He is a volunteer in a Canadian volunteer group similar to the U.S. Peace Corps.  An engineer, he works in forestation and water projects.  We had lunch in the very humble one-room home of his adopted Honduran family.  Bob’s contract has been suspended and he has been living on his own savings since last September.  His Honduran friend, a night watchman, has not been paid for two months.  My visit had been expected for a few weeks and therefore came at a very trying financial moment.  I learned all this while waiting for lunch, and also that the night watchman had gone fishing the previous day and caught an iguana and a turtle.  That is what we had for lunch, the amphibian flesh stewed in a coconut sauce that was truly delicious.  My last night in La Masica I was invited to a supper at my previous contraparte’s brother’s home, a gentleman who had just been elected to a seat as a diputado to the national legislature: a position similar to that of a congressman back in the states.  They killed a pig for the occasion, all the new diputado’s very large extended family participating.  I arrived just as the hapless porker was clubbed across the head and had its throat slit.  Sitting three feet away I watched as the men hired to prepare the chancho scrapped off the stiff red hairs with boiling water, washed the body with soap and cold water, cut off the pink skin in long strips, then disemboweled the creature hanging by its hind legs.  The carcass was subsequently cleaved in half with a machete and the meat cut into chunks and tossed into a wood-fired boiling vat of lard, the chopped up pieces of skin cooking in a separate vat into chicharros, in Mexico called chicharrones.  I used to participate in similar family events growing up in California on my grandmother’s farm.  Life as it is in Honduras.  I returned today from Tegucigalpa.  Yesterday I finally had my new Guatemalan-constructed bridge inserted into my old mouth.  I also saw my orthopedist while in the capital who pronounced my foot as improving but who wants to see me again in three months.  And my life goes on….  In a couple of weeks I will have been in-country for a year.