Healing with Comfrey

I had a miraculous healing. Starting in early summer I started getting bites and rashes on both of my shins and ankles. It seemed to be two separate things, big ugly insect bites and a poison ivy like rash.

I didn’t feel the bites and I never saw what was biting me. Everybody who saw the ugly progression was horrified and I received plenty of advice about what to do about it.

I used all of the hydrocortisone and antibiotic crème that I had on hand and then spent money on more. I used the Rosita bite crème which had worked so well before. Nothing was making a difference.

Some of the bites were flesh eating. They made craters with a hard volcanic rim. Some were as big as my thumb. Both the bites and the rash itched beyond any discipline I might have had and I’d find myself scratching madly, making it all the worse.

The affected areas were as big as both hands. If you took your hands and placed them at your ankles, then that was how big the area was. It looked like something out of a medical text. I was getting freaked out by last weekend and intended to go to La Loma Luz on Monday.

That was scotched when I found out I had over drafted my account and was in the hole, much less having any extra money to go to the hospital. I knew what the doc was going to say, but I thought maybe a prescription strength hydrocortisone and antibiotic would knock it out and it was out of control.

Simultaneously Ann got a message to use Comfrey on Gene’s blood poisoning. She knew she had brought a gallon jar of Comfrey, but hadn’t seen it and thought it had disappeared into the great void of lost things. The next day she was inspired to clean a storage shelf and came upon a jar of herbs that had molded. She cleared that out and lo and behold there was the Comfrey.

She still had the dregs of bronchitis and Gene still had puffiness from the cellulites, so she brewed up a tea. They had immediate results and Gene was showing me how cleared up his ankle was. Ann and I both snapped that we ought to try it on my legs.

While we soaked my left leg with a poultice Gene told me the story of his infant step-daughter many years ago. The baby developed stuffiness and obstructed breathing at about six months. They went through two years of antibiotics, inhalation treatment, rounds of examinations, but she was failing. They sought out an herbalist and the woman assessed her and said the only message she was getting was Comfrey. Comfrey is very ordinary and is thought of more in relation to sprains, bruises, and healing broken bones, but they bought 50 cents worth and took it home.

Neither of them really knew exactly what to do with it, but the woman had said to make a tea of it, so while Gene was unpacking some boxes his wife brewed up a small bottle worth and gave it to the toddler. They both worked on unpacking and the little girl swigged on the bottle while sitting in her walker. She began to make noises and they saw gobs of what looked like gray play-doh working out of her nose.

His wife began to pull what amounted to a baseball of thick mucus out of the child! They were horrified at the amount and consistency but that was what was happening and that was that. The incident was over; she cleared up, and had no more problems. Fifty cents of Comfrey healed what two years and $10,000 of other treatments didn’t touch.

I woke up Monday morning and checked my legs and My God, it was unbelievable. The angriness was down, the damaged areas were more distinct, there was obvious drying up. The area looked better than it had in weeks. Tuesday, I drove over to show Ann and they were impressed. She needed to go to Belmopan and I went with her.

We stopped by Reimer’s Health Foods in Spanish Lookout and they had Comfrey. I borrowed $10 from Ann and immediately started dosing the legs with poultices.

After five days and about as many treatments, the wounds are practically healing before my eyes. I was getting frightened that this had been going on for six months, it was getting worse, and not only were the nerves and ligaments damaged and I was hobbling around, but the skin was diseased. What was going on!!

I am so hopeful. I’ve been concentrating on getting the skin healed and drunk only a few cups, but starting today I’m going to treat my knee and other joints. I think this is the end of all these miseries.

Some quick references: http://www.hort.purdue.edu/newcrop/afcm/comfrey.html

http://www.allotment.org.uk/vegetables_and_herbs/Comfrey_The_Wonder_Plant.php

Draft of Macaw Bank Ghost Stories

This is a draft, but rather timely - I'll work on it again soon:

Al told me a couple of times about hearing children playing at night. They would wake him up. Musical sounding, indistinct, but it sounded like children playing in the cleared area near the house. He could distinguish the sound of a ball being batted about.

He would tell Ron the next morning, but since Ron hadn’t heard it, he had little to comment on. Then Ron would jump into the storytelling and say that “Then one night it woke me up!”

Neither of them could attribute it to night animals. (Did either of them get up and go investigate?) They hadn’t grown up with the sounds of the bush, but they had studied their environment for the past five years and had been taught by the locals what the name of the flora and fauna was and had studiously identified what they saw and heard.

(How long did it go on?)

I theorized that some sort of disaster struck the ancient village site, probably a flash flood on the river. Macaw Bank is a very old site because it has chalk bluffs that the macaws flocked to. The Maya used baskets of colorful bird feathers for their headdresses and they would have been one more item of trade.

Hurricanes and tropical storms have flooded over the banks of the Macal River many times, so its not far fetched to theorize that a small village would have been suddenly decimated in a flash flood.

Galveston is haunted by many of the spirits of those who died in the 1900 Storm, an unpredicted category 5 hurricane that killed a tenth of the island’s population overnight.

On October 15^th, 2007 Ron and Al, the proprietors of Macaw Bank Jungle Lodge were watching a crew of Mennonites deliver another pre-fabricated cabin to a freshly cleared site.

One of the drivers for Reimer’s Woodworks was using a forklift to maneuver the house onto the heavy support posts that stood about three feet off the ground.

Ron was standing by Al who was documenting the finale of the long awaited cabin. Ron was watching the forklift driver and saw that he was going to mess up the settling and maybe have the house tilt off the foundations and jogged forward to warn the driver, when the driver drove the forklift over a low mound of stones. Al was snapping the screw-up, he took a shot of Ron, the house in the back ground and a white fog or mist rose from the mound and the digital camera flew out of his hands.

Al said that his view of the unexpected mist from what they discovered was a grave was through the camera. His camera was attached to a loop and secured on his wrist. His arm straightened out and the lanyard flew off of his wrist and the camera smashed to the ground. He said he didn’t know what was happening.

They all went to inspect the grave. The rock mound wasn’t high, but they were all so freaked out and didn’t want to investigate. They piled the rocks back on top and didn’t know what else to do but get back to work on the house moving.

Ron and Al both said that they saw a face in the mist. The shivers and “Oh my God’s” started when Al reviewed the pictures. He had captured the Spirit and the face!

It was days before someone who knew what they were doing worked on Al’s camera and fixed it so that they could download the image. What have people said who have seen it?

Ron has asked around and people have told him that if it is who they think it is the Spirit is of a real bad guy. He was a thief and a murderer and people think he was murdered and buried on the property ___years ago.

Stuck in the Middle of Nowhere

Thursday, October 25, 2007

It has been slow and confining for weeks. Ann and Gene have been sick off and on for days now. First flu, then Gene contracted some kind of blood poisoning, and then Ann has had the flu and complications.

We had it worse last year when my road was completely impassable because heavy gravel trucks tore it up so bad when it was soft. During the dry season the village got a complete grading of all the roads. This year the bad spot in my road is dicey but I haven’t gotten stuck yet.

It’s Ann’s road that’s been torn up now. A water pipeline comes up from the river at Crystal Paradise Resort, crosses the main road at Ann’s entrance, continues up to Winston’s and then winds through a pass in the hills to the village of San Antonio. That village got a wild hair and decided to use their pipe in some other water acquisition scheme and spent the summer digging up the pipe.

Typically the project was half-assed; they broke the ends of numerous pipes by throwing them on top of each other; didn’t fill and pack Ann’s road worth a damn; and tore up Winston’s road so bad he’s about to lose his ability to traverse it even in 4 wheel.

Trying to see how Ann and Gene are doing has led to me getting stuck twice. During their second round of illness, I didn’t hear from Ann for a week! We usually see each other every few days, and I was worried enough that I was determined to get over there some way.

I got stuck right in the damn pipe muck and managed to back out to the turn-off, but it was so soupy I couldn’t jump the verge of the main road. It was the kind of mud that sucks your boots off and I was about to fall head first into it when Winston drove by and stopped.

I said, “Ah, another glorious day dawns in Belize!” Winston leans over to the passenger window and says, “What’s wrong?” I suppressed saying What the hell does it look like?, and smilingly asked him if he had a tow rope. So he pulls me out which was easy, he didn’t have to get his tires dirty.

He’s all nicely outfitted, his new truck is clean, and the interior is nicely brushed out. He’s had a recent haircut and is clean shaven. I’m barely dressed, wearing boots, my hair has partially fallen out of the little ponytail I’m growing, and because I don’t’ have any lens wash I’m having to wear my glasses and the nose piece is missing and I’ve forgotten that I have part of a makeup sponge glued to the bridge.

I really do have cabin fever and I have only three cigarettes and no money and been on half rations of Zoloft, and if I let this chance to improve my day go by, I’ll regret it.

I tell Winston that I need to get out of the house and might do something self defeating if I just go home, can I just ride with you. I need to get some cigarettes, do you have any cigarettes? He hands me a pack with only three left and I hand them back saying I’ll get some in town.

We drop off my car at the entrance to my road, it’s only about “two blocks”, and there is a village man standing by, waiting for a ride, so Winston stops to pick him up. He tells Winston he has to stop at his house and so we stop again about a 10^th of a mile later. His whole family comes out of the house and begins to pile in.

I always feel so used when this happens. I ask if anybody is sick. I look at each one of them and ask again if anybody is sick. They’re not; they’re just taking the baby for a checkup. The baby looks fine. So they pass muster. One of the quickest ways to get sick, is to give somebody a ride who proceeds to cough and sneeze all over you. Peter hated riding the bus for that very reason. Every time he got sick he just knew it was from the bus. Gene said he got the flu from Nelson’s elderly father who wanted a ride back to Arenal.

We rode into town and I told Winston that Ann and I wanted to get an official looking paper spelling out that we had authority to secure the other’s place until relatives took over. I’ve had so much stolen while I’m alive that I can well imagine the looting as soon as I die. I think the remaining tools, sheets, and kitchenware would be hustled under aprons while I was still cooling down. They’d have to wait till dark and get a tractor and trailer to make off with the furniture, fans, radios, and electronics. Lain and Elliott would still have my books and photographs.

He spent the rest of the time explaining that he didn’t practice law anymore. I inwardly sighed and thought “who said anything about it being legal, jeez; I just wanted some authoritative boiler plate so nobody but Ann could start acting like they were in charge of my stuff”. He’s very rule-minded.

He had to get breathing filters for his workers because they decided they could exterminate the bats in the guest house attic by waving at them and spraying them with bug spray. Winston was dubious, but insisted they at least wear masks. I need to ask him if it worked because as thoroughly as I had the builder seal my house, he still didn’t screen the attic vent and now I have bats. I was really surprised that he was driving into town for just one item.

I pushed his patience a bit by asking him to buy me some cigarettes, but he was nice enough about it. Oops, I still need to pay him $11. I wouldn’t have been able to get up his road the past two weeks anyway.

The next day Ron came by to see if I needed anything and brought me $20 and two packs of cigs. Yes! I need to go check on Ann and Gene and told him how impossible it had been to communicate over a tiny distance of a half mile.

I surmised that there hadn’t been any sun, so they couldn’t charge their phone batteries. They must be too weak to drive out in their 4x4’s. I told him my truck got stuck yesterday and it’s been raining ever since, so that was out. And I just couldn’t walk that far, especially in the rain, slipping and slogging through mud. He thought we ought to check on them too, so we made that detour.

Yes, they were that sick and were real glad we came by. We have talked several times about how vulnerable we are if someone doesn’t come by. I’m in a good enough location that the people who regularly pass by, or come by would probably spot something amiss – sooner or later. I thought Ann and Gene had solved that big problem by having Nelson’s family living on the property, but it’s a long story as to why that’s not so perfect.

The same conditions have happened this week, only now I don’t have a phone card, my credit expired. Once again it’s raining, the roads are soup, and I haven’t seen Ann. But today, she text me saying she had been sick since Sunday but was feeling better, but her road was bad. I didn’t have any credit to reply. I just have to trust that they’re OK enough. It’s supposed to be dry tomorrow and I’ll definitely try to go over before I go to town.

The nicest news is that this last rain was from the north and it’s cooled down like somebody turned on the A/C. Even at noon it was only 76 in the house.

Mimi is Poisoned

My little cat kingdom was rocked when Mimi went missing. I have Thomas, the big-headed tom, who sleeps wherever he wants to. Mimi was the mom, who had three litters in two years.

The first litter was four who looked just like Mom and Dad. They were healthy and I was hoping to find homes for them when one day, I think they were about two month old, they just disappeared! The first time that I couldn’t find them I was very worried, but a day later they were back on the porch. I couldn’t imagine. The second time they disappeared, they stayed gone and I could only hope they hadn’t met a grisly fate. Peter had wanted the solid black kit and he was sorry it went missing before he could take it back to Belmopan.

Then Mimi had a litter of three, but one died the next day. The two remaining kittens are now about eight months old. They are Gordon, another Thomas clone, and Molly, who really needs to get her fur dyed some kind of punky pink. She has this one odd white patch on her back that has me reaching for the food coloring when I get especially bored.

Mimi had a surprise litter four weeks ago. She let Molly and Gordon nurse way past weaning time and finally told them to knock it off about a week before delivering this last batch. She was the best mother. She babied them and went out hunting for them. I would find half eaten bats or mice on the back porch. She would want to bring her kill inside, but after a lot of commotion I’d get everybody out on the porch for the feast. Thomas always acted like he had brought home the bacon, but Mimi and I knew he’d been asleep on the couch.

This last litter consists of Neville, all black as the Neville Brothers; Percy, who may be a little light in the loafers; and Emily, a black and white clown coat. I have to credit grandson Corley with all of these names. (Hint: they are all Thomas the Tank Engine names.)

Well, Mimi nursed the babes and then went out for her usual night time stroll. I called all the big ones in around 10:00, but Mimi didn’t come. The next morning I was concerned that she wasn’t at the back door. There had been hellacious dog yodeling all night and I was pretty cranky and a missing Mom just topped it off. Thank goodness they lapped up a saucer of milk, so if she stayed gone for awhile I wouldn’t have to make a tough decision.

I went into town and got back before it started pouring rain again. We’ve been under a slow moving tropical low for days. It was around 10:00 that night when Mimi pried open the screen door and trotted straight for the kitten box. MIMI! You’re back! Oh, you’re sopping wet, and I dried her off as she laid down for the frantic kittens.

But she wasn’t right. She was exhausted, I could tell that, but she was too unresponsive. I examined her without bothering her too much and there wasn’t any swelling or bleeding. But she wasn’t breathing right and just basically passed out. I was up and down all night checking on her and was passed out myself when I heard Ron tooting his horn.

Lord, I was supposed to be up and ready for Ron at 8:30 and I was stumbling for the door when I saw Mimi stretched out on the floor next to the box. Oh, oh. Oh damn. She was dead and cold and stiff.

Ron was merry and coming in the house asking how I was and I yelled, Don’t step on my dead cat! What?! Oh, God, what happened?!

Another day dawns in the bush.

I placed a towel over her and we reached for our cigarettes. Thomas is pacing around, Molly and Gordon are sniffing her, the kittens are mewing like cats four times their size, and Ron begins to tell me this hysterical story about when a horse died in their front yard.

I’ve got this dead cat laying on the floor and we are laughing like hyenas over he and Al and their workers trying to remove a dead horse that has it’s legs splayed out and impossible to get into the bed of a pickup. He had to drag it down his road to some place where he could pull it into the bush, by then it’s only half a horse… I’m just snorking with wheezy laughter.

Ron did me a real favor by taking her remains away in his truck. She fit OK in the truck bed, and I turned to face three, make that five, orphans.

It is working out OK, except Thomas and Gordon hate it when the kittens try to nurse them, and Molly hisses at them, but everybody likes the baby kitty food. I have to make up enough soft milky food for everybody, otherwise the kittens are stampeded.

Darn. Mimi was a real sweetie and I was fine with all these kittens since Mimi took care of them, but now I’m seriously going to have to find them homes. It’s a bit much.

Abbie's Murder

Another primitive murder happened in the village. The tragedy was senseless and arose from the basest and most primitive emotions.

Abbimael Cordoba, was a rarity – he was a talented craftsman, he was productive, he was friendly, and honest. He was the nephew of Herman and Teresita. Abbie grew up in Orange Walk and showed an early talent for wood working.

Three years ago he was commissioned to help Herman build a storage building for Allen and Colleen. The storage building was so outstanding with mixed woods, fancy cut out air vents, eye-popping details, that Allen and Colleen soon made it the core of the home they had intended to build. Elliott and Diana wanted to remodel their kitchen in Belize City and Abbie created a mixed hardwoods surround of cabinets and counters. Down here hardwoods such as teak and mahogany are quite common. Mahogany is used for ordinary doors. Soon after Elliott’s job, Gary commissioned his kitchen and architectural details for his new house.

Abbie moved from Orange Walk to the village with his young wife and her 4 year old daughter, set up a first rate shop at Herman’s, and began to build his own house in the lot next to the ½ Acre Ranch.

I had an excess of nails, screws, hardware, etc. left over after my houses were built and put them in my ongoing yard sale. Abbie bought a whole pig bucket of unsorted hardware and a level.

A year ago Abbie’s wife suddenly became very ill. She had a high fever and abdominal pains and was taken to the San Ignacio hospital. She didn’t respond and was transferred to Belmopan. There were confusing and conflicting reports, which is not unusual. A lot is lost in the translations and I was told she was suffering everything from kidney failure to allergic reactions to the antibiotics. She was taken from Belmopan to Belize City and died within the week. Herman had the most accurate information, he told me she died from a womb infection.

Abbie had to take his little girl back to Orange Walk to stay with his parents. His wife was from Guatemala and no one knew who her parents were. Abbie’s parents love her dearly and she is in a good, stable home.

On Saturday morning he worked on his house. Even though he didn’t have his wife or daughter anymore, he had plans to continue to make a good life. He was healing from his grief and had even begun to date a village girl.

Saturday afternoon he went to San Ignacio with his cousin Banny. They are in their mid- twenties and it was time to have a little fun. The bus they caught home was full, but some village girls called out to them and scooted over in their seats to make room for Abbie. The girls across the aisle made room for Banny.

Three boys from the neighboring village, San Antonio, were drunk and started hooting and jeering, working themselves up to a jealous rage that Abby and Banny had girls giving them seats. The San Antonio boys were getting rude and belligerent and the bus driver told them he was going to stop the bus and throw them off if they didn’t quit the ruckus.

The bus arrived in our village, it was only 9:00, but the San Antonio boys were drunk and spoiling for a fight. Abby and Banny got off and the drunk threesome followed them. The San Antonio’s started fisticuffs with the fight moving to the little park with the bandstand. It was three against two. One of the trio picked up a beer bottle and hit Banny near the top of his head. He said he saw stars and his head was bleeding into his eyes.

Others were beginning to gather around the fight. Another cousin Ishmael was running down towards the fight when one of the San Antonio boys picked up a 2x4 and used it like a bat against the back of Abby’s head. Abby staggered, then dropped. He never re-gained consciousness.

Ishmael held down one of the thugs, by then the rest were restrained. Mike and Donna drove by about that time and saw “a boy standing by the road, bleeding from his head”, but they didn’t know what was happening and drove on.

I am assuming that Herman and Teresita drove Banny and Abbie to the hospital. I don’t know which one, but Banny was stitched up and was released the next day. Abbie was ultimately taken to Karl Huesner in Belize City where he was put on a ventilator.

Everyone was stirred up and affected. I didn’t participate, but I was told of all the comings and goings to the Belize City hospital. Herman was driving people, Gary drove the extended family.

After a week he was taken off the ventilator. Herman drove a coffin to Belize City and then to Orange Walk with his body. The funeral was held that Tuesday in Orange Walk.

It was Ron who told me he had passed on. We drove by Herman and Terisita’s, but their gates were locked up and the trucks were gone. We drove by Aurelio’s church where tacked on the door, was a large black trash bag shaped into a bow, cinched with spider lilies.

Within a few days the speculations begin. The San Antonians were sorry, they didn’t mean to kill him, they were drunk. A shop girl had kept her store open and had a view of the plaza. She was the girlfriend of one of the killers and told the police that her boyfriend was just standing there, Abbie and Banny started it.

The mother of one of the trio fainted. Marvin asked me if Abbie’s parents should hire a lawyer. The S.A’s had a lawyer, didn’t Abbie’s side need a lawyer? I said The State was the lawyer, but begin to think that the family might benefit from having outside counsel ride herd on the Prosecution.

Then the stealing began. The zinc roofing Abbie had bought for the house was gone; tools were disappearing; the pile of extra house block was gone. It was said that Abbie had a bank account and had told only one person the pin number and now the bank said there was no money in the account.

I’ve learned to cut this gossip in half and divide by two. There is sometimes one grain of fact in all that is repeated. It’s just awesome to witness. And it is at the speed of light.

But the fact that Abbie was killed during a drunken rage of testosterone and ignorance is just so very sad. There have been about 70 gang war shootings in Belize City this year, but the Police Commissioner said on the radio that at least the villages are quiet.

There is an undercurrent of barely restrained violence in the country. The pressure cooker of poverty blows its safety valve at a whim. Men are driving too fast on the bad roads, machete choppings, drive-by shootings catch innocents. Malicious thieving and poisoning pets is out of hand.

The corruption at the top is erupting in senseless deaths. Reporters and talk show hosts have been beaten and intimidated. The fighting over the scraps is vicious. Paychecks are drunk up on Saturday night and school fees aren’t paid.

Everybody is sad over Abbie’s death. He was such a hope that it would get better. His hopeful spark was smashed and it’s deflated a whole village.

Emily and Sebastian Sept. 29, 2007

I introduced Emily and her aunt Florencia in my last report, but it was brief and didn’t convey the length and depth of my friendship with her.

Emily is about 10 yrs. And her brother Sebastian is about 7 yrs. They are appealing children, they are mixed Caucasian and Maya blood, so their features are very au’ currant.

During the summer they started coming up to the ½ Acre Ranch to sell homemade coconut candies. They were always dressed up, with Emily typically wearing a full skirt and a peasant blouse. She would have her hair dressed with barrettes and wearing her nice shoes. She walked in her slippers (which we would call flip-flops) and then change into dressy shoes when they approached the gate.

Sebastian was always clean, but little boy sweaty, wearing a short sleeved dress shirt and khaki shorts. He was usually barefoot. Sebastian doesn’t speak English, so it was harder to know his personality than it was to get to know Emily. Sebastian was always rather wide-eyed and openly curious about my house, but didn’t touch anything.

I had to teach them not to just walk right into my house, but to call out to me and wait on the porch until I came to the screen door. Sometimes I would invite them in and they thought it was so funny that I let my cats nap on the couch and chairs. They witnessed my big Thomas, the Belizean bush cat open the screen with his paw and muscle himself inside and flop right on the couch like he owned the place.

I have a mama and papa cat, their two 9 month old babies, and now a new litter of three. That is why I’d leave the screen door unlatched, because I don’t like being the cat maid. The cats are often safer in the house and not a meal for the wildlife.

The kids came up once or twice a week. Sometimes they would be selling avocados which go for a dollar each in the market. My trees were full of avocados, so as a donation I would give them thirty or more to increase their stock.

One time Emily hung back and wanted to tell me her mother was very poor and had too many children. Well, I could have guessed that one! She asked me if I could give her some money. I explained that my money was very short, but I had given her $30 of avocados and that would have to be the way I helped her this week.

A couple of weeks ago they came up and were selling candy, but I really couldn’t stomach any more and said, “let me just give you a dollar this time, I’m too fat to eat candy”. They giggled because by foreign standards I’m just right for an older mamacita.

I said, “Oh, Mimi had her kittens this week, do you want to see the new babies?” Of course, and we came inside to see the three newborns.

Then we went back to the kitchen and I took my wallet out of my purse and gave them their money from the change pouch. I laid the wallet on the work table and ushered them out the screen door adjacent to the table.

I went back to my writing and was immersed again until I heard “something?” “Out on the porch?” The cats trying to come in? The neighbor’s dog eating the cat’s food? Humph, I thought, it’s nothing.

The next morning my friend Ron came over and said, he would have called first but he lost my number. “Did I have another card, and ‘promise’ I’ll hold on to this one. Sure, and I went for my wallet to pull one out of the card slot.

Ron! My wallets’ gone! Where did you use it?, he asks. That’s just it. I haven’t been anywhere. I keep it in my purse. I used it yesterday to give Emily and Sebastian some school supply money and I either left it on the table or put it back in my purse…….

Well, God, I hope you find it. Listen if you don’t want to go to Spanish lookout, I’ve got to get going. He’s as distracted as I am and had just popped by to see if I wanted a ride.

“No, no”, I’m lost in thought trying to track my wallet, which is now lost in space. “No, you go on. Next time, thanks”. And he’s off to pursue the parts to a broken butane refridge.

By now I’m convinced that Emily and Sebastian have something to do with it. This is the first theft, out of all my teefings, that I can, without a doubt, trace the sequence of events and know for certain the Who, What, When, How, AND MOTIVE! I’m half sick to think it is the kids, and hesitant to start going around shaking down suspects. BUT. Dammit. I am absolutely fed up with the petty teefing, and my wallet ranks way off the chart compared to a hammer or even a drill.

I’ve got to act on this. My bank card and driver’s license are in there, besides the $60 that means most of a week’s groceries.

It’s only 7:30, so I have time to talk to them before they go to school. First I go over to Carolina’s and ask one of her little brothers where Emily and Sebastian live. Oh, Christ, it’s one of those involved, confusing set of directions that make no sense, so I tell Selwyn to hop in my truck and show me. Good grief, their house is at the foot of the road. I would have been driving all over the village looking for it!

Selwyn asks if I’m going to take him back now, and I do a U-turn and run him back up the steep hill. Back down the hill, park, get out, and hobble a dozen yards up their hill to their front porch. I call out to Emily and good grief; out come 4 or 5 grown women, half of them pregnant, and practically 15 children. Man, this is going to be hard.

Emily gives me the most open, friendly, innocent expression on her face and asks, “What? Que?” I say, “You know what! You know why I’m here”. And she shrugs with a questioning look to her mother.

I address myself to her mother. “Buenas dias. I am Miss Dana. I live up the road. I think you have been to my yard sales. I am sorry to come this morning, but my wallet has gone missing. Emily and Sebastian were at my house yesterday, and now my wallet is gone.” While I am explaining, in more simple words, using a bit of Spanish, I am scanning the crowd for their reactions.

Sebastian tumbles first. Now, he does not speak English, but all of a sudden he is coming out with an agitated torrent of words to his mother. She says, “Did you give them money?” I say, "One dollah, for the candy!”

Lot’s of silence, big eyes, and shuffling feet. Emily holds firm. She portrays the picture of innocence and we are at a standstill. I apologize for “tinking bad thoughts about her children. Please, but I am so worried about my bank card and driver’s license. They are very important to me. I will keep looking.” And I leave.

I drove home a jumble of nerves and resentments. There was nothing to do but pray. I took down Marianne Williamson’s Illuminata, and turned to the prayer list. I was thumbing for one on “Being Stolen From, numerous times, and Dissolving Resentments, at the whole village and god-rotting country, but had to settle for “Betrayal”.

Dear God,

I have been betrayed. Take away from me this pain. Let me not be tempted to wrong those who have wronged me, or to hate those who hate me. But rather, dear God, please use Your power on my behalf, that through Your love I might invoke the light, that through Your forgiveness I might speed resurrection, that through Your grace the spirit of the Lord might enter and make all things right.

Let me not be tempted by darkness, even though it is all around me. Let me continue to see the good in others, even when they have turned the arrows of their fear at me. Be my shield, dear Lord. And please be my protector. Awaken in others the truth in their hearts, and awaken the same in me. I have faith in You, dear God, to right all wrongs, to make all things clear, to bring light out of apparent darkness.

I hold to You. I bless those who have not blessed me. I forgive them and I forgive myself. Or so do I wish to do. I ask for Your help. I pray for comfort. Thank You very much.

Amen

Ok, that’s it. So let it be written, so let it be done, and now for the dishes.

I’m washing several day’s of dishes when emissaries from the family arrive. It’s Aunt Florencia and one of the not pregnant (yet) women. I invite them in and offer bottled water out of nice glasses. We sit on the screened porch and I wait to hear what they have to say. I could have waited till past lunchtime for them to begin the conversation, so I introduce the likely topic of “I wonder where my wallet has gone to?”

They look at each other and shrug. I tell them how I walked up and down my road looking for the wallet but the bush is so high, I could not find it. I wonder if maybe it is lost in the bush.

How much money was in the “pocket”, they ask. I say, oh maybe $50 or maybe $80. I say it was to pay for the current and the water, but now I do not have the money and I don’t know what to do. (I give an exaggerated figure hoping at least the little shits will get lashed for not giving all the money.)

I say the biggest problem is the bank card. I cannot get any money without the bank card, and I cannot drive without my license. What do you think I should do?

What do you tink happened? I ask them, and go on to say that I have had many little teefings. My yellow line, a stalk of bananas, my hammer, all dees little tings gone missing. What should I do?

What do you think will happen now? What do you think happened? I ask a series of open ended questions designed to let them come up with a story and a solution. Throughout they say very little, but their body language is reacting to the amount of money, the bananas, and the “lost in the bush” concept.

I end with “Oh, this makes me so sad, I hope the wallet comes back to me.”

An hour and a half later, during the school lunch break, here comes Auntie and Emily, with Sebastian running behind. They are all sweaty and flushed. Sebastian has tear streaks down the dust on his face. Emily is wide-eyed. Auntie says, “We found it in the bush”, and Emily holds it out. I examine it, the money is gone, but the cards, and everything else is undisturbed. I look at them for a fairly long count, and some measure of compassion enters my heart.

I give them each a hug and say, "I know what happened, but we won’t speak of it again". “Go back to school now, it’s over”. I am so relieved. The lost money is a real bite, but at least I don’t have to write my daughter to send me a card replacement or change accounts, or any of that awful rigormarole. And the lost driver’s license hassle I can’t even imagine.

Thank you God in heaven and all my angels and all the spirits of my goods (who have been AWOL), and anything else that helps and protects me.

I’ve reflected on this, because it is a big deal. I had befriended those children. Emily had even come up to show me the school supplies she had bought with her candy money and I had added some more pencils and sharpened them all. I was really shocked that they had sneaked back into my house and snatched the wallet, it was so bold. I think Emily did it. Sebastian would have been too scared and clumsy. It is Emily who is the business person of the outfit. She was such an actress! I couldn’t have done better myself and I am a supreme actress, liar, and thief. I was truly impressed.

What troubles me is that she feels so responsible for getting money for the family at this age. It is troublesome what she will do for money at this age and my mind goes to scary scenarios in the future.

Right now I’m enforcing a cooling off period in order to see how I feel about seeing them again. I haven’t spread the story in the village because I don’t want them to be branded. They are too young and I hope salvageable. One would think so!

It was a lesson for both of us. I must keep my purse in my bedroom, and ideally latch the screen. Maybe the kids were scared straight for now, but not without some continuing re-enforcement.

There are all sorts of energetic ideas to be implemented, but right now I just want to heal my own knee-jerk resentments and bitterness, not only the thieving, but like my whole life. And for that, really I have learned, prayer and meditation work the fastest.

Macaw Bank and Belize City

Yahoo, a hurricane free weekend! First Dean, then Felix.

I have 3 computers and all of them fritzed. For days and weeks I haven’t had a computer and I really missed them. Fortunately, I’ve been working for Ron and Al at Macaw Bank Lodge, being their liaison with Mexico Mike who is building their website.

It can get pretty wild over at Macaw Bank. Yesterday I was answering Mike’s emailed questions and sending him photos, maps, text, etc.

They are adding 3 new cabins and we had to name them. We started shouting out really awful names like the Tapir, the Scorpion, the Botfly… when some guests rode up to the gate.
Ron and Al were back and forth into the kitchen, where the computer is, and were telling me all sorts of suspicious sounding descriptions of these two. They were rattily dressed, they looked like hicks, they had missing teeth. Then we heard what sounded like a single shot down the road. Henry, one of the worker bees reported that the police were looking for a blue car.

By then the solar batteries had died and I needed Ron to fire up the generator, so it was a good excuse to see these characters for myself. I took the camera down to the dining room and posed some shots with them in the background. I could hardly look at them they were such knuckle-draggers.

Ron asked, when we went back to the generator, if I really thought those two would be good website material. I said, oh god no, I want that picture to be on the camera if they rob you. He said that one of them said that he’d worked in a nuclear arms factory, and I said My ass, he was sniffing the paint on the nose cone!

So a $100.00 later, they hadn’t robbed them and got on their ATV’s to go visit another place. Ron said that after getting pretty drunck they started talking about having gotten out of the meth business just in time. That, I said, makes sense. They looked like they cooked meth in an Arkansas trailer.

He said it was a good thing I didn’t stand at the gaate in my little Jr. League suit and make everyone pass muster.
Humph, I threatened to name his next cabin The Meth Lab.

I’ve used the extra money from Ron and Al to get my laptop fixed. It has really perked me up to start "working" again. Darryl gave me the card of a small inn owner who wants a web site. Keep pluggin’.

My friends have made my days so enjoyable. Two weeks ago, I rode with my best buds to Belize City. They requested that I use fictitious names when I write about them, so they will be called Ann and Gene.

Gene has spent about a year getting a shotgun permit. Today was the day to finally go to one of the two places in the country that sells shotguns.

You have to imagine getting through the skillet of snakes that are the streets of Belize,.. then I knew of a parking lot behind RoMacs and that was a godsend. Through the lot, through RoMacs, across the street, through Brodies, up the stairs but no, that wasn’t the right department, find each other, through Brodies back door, down the block, across the street. All of this in the broiling sun, on mine filled sidewalks, no sidewalks, and demented traffic.
As a group we are like a herd of cats, going off on our own, getting separated, hobbling, and talking the whole time.

Dozens of people to help us and all of them looking wide eyed when we ask for the shotgun department. We were all thinking, jeez, we’re not going to use it on YOU. The correct department sold gardening supplies, appliances, and shotguns. First we were told the guns were upstairs, but we couldn’t see any stairs. (That was because they assumed Gene didn’t have a permit (who does?!) and he should go back over to the main store to the sporting goods department to get a pellet gun. That was where we had started, 45 minutes ago.
Ann and I were standing together, Gene had wandered off, and the saleswoman asked us what we wanted, expecting us to say a washing machine, and I said in my Texas way - Oh, yes please, we want a shotgun. Lord she jumped a foot.

After several conferences with higher ups, the woman took us to the back of the warehouse and into a walk in vault. There were four shotguns on a rack. Gene had a permit for a 16 gauge and there was one choice. He went through the motions of examining it, sighting it, looking down the barrel, hefting it up to aim. Ann reacted with Don’t point that at me!

Well, what do you think? Ann says, Is there any other store that sells shotguns? The saleswoman says Benny’s. And we say maybe we ought to go see what Benny’s has. Then she says, but they are sold out. Ok, Gene says, I’ll take the gun. He reaches in his fanny pack for the permit, and the woman jumps another foot like he’s going to take out a pistol.

Then he asks for shells. No, we don’ got no shells mon. By then we are getting numb. Does Benny’s have any shells? No, nobody don’ got no shells. Maybe we’re not too numb, because we are still amazed at encountering the unbelizalbe.

The next part of the operation was for us three wobbly old dudes to walk through the streets of Belize City carrying a package that looks just like a shotgun. We would have really preferred to walk back to the car with a LOADED SHOTGUN, but we had to rely on pink light and a cloak of invisibility to clear our passage.

On the way back we stopped at a hydroponics farm that grows lettuce and herbs. They don’t sell the plants or the seed, but we were given whole plants with the roots, and Gene and I kypted a habanereo pepper and some dill seeds. I better plant it and share it to cleanse my karma. I was di teef!

I have been helping six kids earn money for school supplies. One brother and sister come almost every day selling homemade coconut candies, crabboo, or avocados. I don’t dare eat any more of the candy, but I give them a dollar anyway. Today Emily and her aunt Florencia came again. After I gave Emily two dollah, her aunt wanted me to buy a raffle ticket. Damn, I should have given Emily 1 dollah, then had the other for the aunt.

The raffle was for a case of cokes. If I win, she said, she "has to buy me a case of cokes". What the hell?? I run into this all the time, the goofiest things. Well, dear, who is sponsoring the raffle, who get the money you are collecting? I do, she says, and produces an exercise book with the lines numbered 1 to 100. This is almost incomprehensible to me, then I burst out laughing. What a sucker scam!

It is so bold and she is so sincere with her plan. I am taken back to being five years old when Flossie and I peddled bouquets out of the FTD catalog to the neighbors. They were supposed to pick out the bouquet they liked and give me the money and I would deliver the flowers. It’s a long, prophetic story, but back to the girl’s before me.

I picked number 60 and prayed that she collected enough to cover the case of cokes, or more likely no one won and she kept the $5 from the 5 or so she’d signed up. Oh, I forgot to tell you, I asked her who draws the winner? And she smiled, "I do".