Thursday, March 30, 2017

University gates


The university gates across the street from our apartment yesterday, as Tallulah and I drove to the post office. I didn't sleep well, reckoning with the potential meanings of what's happening in the world, including the student-led work stoppage at UPR, ongoing in response to the huge cuts (many millions) on which the Fiscal Control Board insists. Many things are unclear. Tallulah's school is closed, too, much to the delight of all the kids. She's off in the rainforest with friends today, then maybe the beach...

Photo of the front gates by my friend Don.

Saturday, March 18, 2017

Trip into the mountains for good hard wood

Waiting for tacos made by a lady from Tecate.
Flower that smells like lemon-lime soda, or maybe moisturizer with sugar.


Getting a mani-pedi from tiny fish that live in the Charco Azul--something she begged for every time we passed the place--not a "salon," per se in St. Thomas--oddly sparse, with just a bunch of tanks with little fish in them. I always said no. Thirty bucks! The whole thing seemed like a weird tourist trap. Now it turns out it's just as good as she thought it would be.
Adam found out about a place that sells sustainable local wood and so for the first time since August we actually explored Puerto Rico. It's cool up there in the mountains--roast pigs on spits at restaurants at a crossroads above Cayey, and then when you get even higher, thousands of acres of rainforest stretch out, silent. Hopeful, maybe. Or maybe it's just that our cellphones didn't work up there, so we left all the disasters behind.

Saturday, October 22, 2016

Toa Baja



Casas abandoned when the university raised the rent.


We saved a chick from the cat pack that lives outside.
I found a thrift store in the mall.
Listening to bachata music coming in the windows from the neighbors on the other side of the fence--somewhere along the way I've become in some way Caribbean, raising a child who pronounces "diez" as "deay" and wants me to wear four-inch heels. This is home, but that hasn't been a singular noun for decades. Zacarias Ferreira's voice is out there in the night, a song that first floated over the rails of Callisto in the bay in Luperon. Somewhere along the way, not quite soon enough, I realized that everything's going to be OK.

Saturday, August 6, 2016




In the San Juan Bay Marina with our pussy-face Jesus. Low-maintenance, no matter how filthy, cramped, and crappy the boat is, the cat reveals secrets of enlightenment. Really. This last week, driving around San Juan, in circles--my GPS insists on speaking Spanish--tangling with the friendly faces of a strange bureaucracy, I finally felt like I’m not wasting time. We are last-minute here, the world was moving on in its lurching way with or without us, but somehow things shuffle themselves into place, a few moments before we reach for them. Usually. Classes start on Monday and I probably won’t get paid for two months--there’s some reason for it. There are lots of little mysteries here, including what the maintenance guy at the marina just said to me. But I know I’ll unravel them, for these mundane secrets thrill me.






In the San Juan Bay Marina with our pussy-face Jesus. Low-maintenance, no matter how filthy, cramped, and crappy the boat is, the cat reveals secrets of enlightenment. Really. This last week, driving around San Juan, in circles--my GPS insists on speaking Spanish--tangling with the friendly faces of a strange bureaucracy, I finally felt like I’m not wasting time. We are last-minute here, the world was moving on in its lurching way with or without us, but somehow things shuffle themselves into place, a few moments before we reach for them. Usually. Classes start on Monday and I probably won’t get paid for two months--there’s some reason for it. There are lots of little mysteries here, starting with what the maintenance guy at the marina just said to me. But I know I’ll unravel them, for these mundane secrets thrill me.