Friday, July 15, 2011

Pics of Potions and Hairlessness

Well, the usual silliness to start: up early, breakfast for the kiddles, out the door. I felt great, so as soon as the wife & kids were gone, I took a run. One hour around Condado: nice little spin. Janneke still hadn’t come back when I finished, so I went to the beach and slipped into the waves. Good God, I thought: This is what mankind is meant to do. Get sweaty with healthy exercise, and then hit the beach. The water was as smooth and the air as windless as I have ever seen it here in Condado – there’s almost never NOT a breeze. Awesome.

Walked home, sat for five minutes, and Janneke rolled up. Inside, shower, and Janneke was off to do some errands; I made a call or two and then hit the road to see my friend Basilisa, or “Basi”. She owns a little shop, called a “botánica”, that sells spiritual supplies. Like this:



That's a bath lotion that says "Rompe Unión" - I think you bathe yourself in it when you want someone else's marriage / union to fail. Or this:



That says "Scares the devil". You rub it on your skin. Basi taps her temple and says, "All this works, but only with faith."

We have hit it off; I got there around 10:00, and she threw up her hands. “Where have you BEEN?!” We talked and chatted and I filmed her shop a bit. Very exciting, project-wise. She had an appointment today to meet with a mattress salesman – she can’t sleep lately. Over the course of chatting with the salesman, both of them, in one voice, wound up recommending a restaurant to me, called “Fina”, just up the street from the market place. It only does lunch, so I told Basi I’d take her out one of these days.

It also came up in the conversation that she’s 81 years old. I’d have put her at mid-sixties.

So, back to the house to pick up Janneke, and we zoomed off to pick up Q. He’d had a great day, and his coach, the Cuban guy, sat the whole group down to give them a talk about what’s lacking in Puerto Rican soccer. And the theme was the same as what he brought up in antithesis to Q: “Everybody wants to score; nobody wants to defend. Everybody wants to score, nobody wants to pass.” It was a big ol’ affirmation of our man Q.

Who, it turns out, won a prize today. They separated all the little guys into one group, and all the big guys (Q included) into another, and had accuracy competitions, power competitions, etc. In one they put three cones up across the length of the goal, stood the kids some distance apart, and gave each one three shots. The best anyone did was to hit two; then, Q stepped to the line, and knocked down one with a laser-beam shot, another with a laser-bean shot, and the third? JUST wide of the cone, off the post.

And back off again, to hit the cone and knock it down.

He won a little “England” soccer flag and a soccer-style hacky-sack. He was super proud. He also told us a little anecdote where a kid named Dérek poured some Gatorade into a Gatorade cap, and asked Q, “Tú ves esto?” Q said “Sí.” And Dérek quick-like dumped it over Q’s head. He and Q laughed, Q in shock and Dérek in devilish delight. Q then grabbed Dérek, held up his fist and said, “Tú ves esto?” And both laughed again. Another week to go!

Strangely, on the way home, when we brought up the possibility of coming back to SPADI next summer, Q flew into a bit of a panic. “No! I don’t want to go to Puerto Rico next summer! I want to stay in Williamstown!”

Janneke and I were shocked, and vowed not to bring it up again for a long, long time.

Picked up T -You remember her:




- who was face-painted like a vampire and tuckered delightfully. They’d had races with the dogs, to see who could do their tricks the fastest, and she’d come in 2nd; then again, a plain-ol’ run-with-your-dog obstacle course, and she’d come in second again. She was frustrated, but we told her we were super proud. There are twenty-odd kids at that camp! We talked her into being pleased. She said Clarabelle - You remember her:



- has been extremely obedient with her, and that she’s sorted out a way of holding onto the leash even when Clarabelle pulls in excitement. God, good stuff.

Home again, and off to the beach, which was just as clear and calm and windless as I remembered from the morning. Q was the first to remark about the clarity of the water, and before long we realized that you could see quite large stretches of rock where previously, we would only occasionally touch with out toes, realize we were on rock, and head back toward shore. Hadn’t realized how much rock there was! I ran back to the house to get the snorkeling equipment.

And to shave my upper lip, so that the mask would fit better. Behold:




Q thinks I look better this way. Janneke calls it the “Flemish beard”. “Flemish” must be Dutch for “awesome”.

We saw a lot of fish, a few lobster-like animals, and a ton of garbage in low eddies where things accumulate and the waves can’t roll them out. Hundreds of beer cans, bracelets, pairs of sunglasses, and pair after pair of goggles. Even a pair of apparently all-but-new men’s swimming trunks, which Janneke sort of likes. We’ll run then through the wash and see how they look. Be ready for photographic updates.

Pizza and movie night; "Dune", which T fell asleep twenty minutes into (she was a little feverish, and with some medicine in her, went to bed, where she's since cooled off); Q sat through the movie, decidedly without delight, and just now trundled off. Leaving us to prepare to hit the road in the morning. I'll tell you all about it in a future post.

Promise.

1 comment:

mungaboo said...

"Flemish" is English for "Flemish," as in from Flanders, Belgium, a country whose inhabitants we (the Dutch) mock mercilessly. There are numerous reasons. Beards are one. Smoochies, J-