27. November 2011 by Fortunato Velasquez.

Last week my orthopedist made my final appointment for 9 January 2012.  If everything continues as well as it has, he says he’ll clear me to return to work: Eleven months to the day since my accident.  This has been a time of forced reflection for me.  And a healing process; both physical and mental.  In a fraction of a second one’s life can be changed forever.  It could have been worse, of course.  I am lucky.  I will be returning to much work in Honduras.  Friends and colleagues are waiting.  I am waiting.  But not for long.

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21. November 2011 by Fortunato Velasquez.

Well, it appears I won’t have access to my outdoor study for a long while.  It’s too damn cold and when the snow starts flying in earnest it will be inaccessible.  That whole scene above will be under 2-3 feet of snow.  I communicate with Sor Edith every week or two back at the Hogar.  She and Glenn, my new site mate, keep me posted on what’s happening at the Hogar, and also the hospital and the community in general.  Each missive and phone conversation is a tableau of meaning filled with the actions of folks I know, the place where I want to be.  Thursday will be Thanksgiving Day; the Third Annual at the Hogar San Jose.  Glenn writes me that there will be 80 persons as guests this year.  Including the 17 kids who live there that’s still a lotta people.  Bigger than the previous two T-Days.  I’ll be there in spirit only.  But I will be in good hands, my daughter has a heart of gold and her family and home offer me a warmth and coseyness that takes me back to my youth sitting down to feast on turkey and all kinds of good stuff surrounded by relatives and laughter.  Everyone toasty and warm and happy inside.  Looking outside at the cold day, it enhances the feeling of comfort and family. 

Feliz Dia de Gracias, Everyone! 

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1. November 2011 by Fortunato Velasquez.

In spite of having an infected wisdom tooth pulled out Friday by my local oral surgeon I joined the festivities.  Rather appropriate, I think.  The bloody, painful swollen crater of a  now nonexistent molar hidden from view by my forced smile fit the Dia de Muerto mood to a T.  Add the pain of my 19 day-old arm surgery and I was a regular Don Rickles.  Around me the house bustled.  My granddaughter and her boyfriend cutting pumpkins in the kitchen.  My daughter, son-in-law and niece changing into their evening clothes getting ready for the Halloween Ball.  My grandson and his friends downstairs getting ready for their own ball.  I’m enjoying every moment of my last three months in the States with my family.  When I leave again I won’t be back for a long time.

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