Drowning in the Fish Bowl: A Dream

Like the “box” built into the wall.

Last night I dreamed I was with friends in an indoor public place- a restaurant or a mall, maybe- filled with the half-height walls those sorts of places use to create the perimeter of a food court, or to divide one dining section from another. The walls were deep, and made of a light-colored wood.

One of the walls had a decorative box built into the top at the end, a bit like the newel post pictured here, and about 9 inches square. The side of the square facing me had been replaced with a piece of thick plexiglass so I could see the box was filled almost to the top with water, and that a gray and white goldfish and a champagne colored gerbil were swimming inside.

The gerbil was treading water desperately, trying so hard to keep its nose in the inch or so of air at the top of the box. I started pounding on the plexiglass screwed to the face of the box, trying to break it to release this sad little creature before it drowned.

(It just occurred to me that I gave no thought to what might become of the fish were I to succeed in breaking through the plexiglass.)

I looked around and saw no one with me seemed bothered that someone had doomed this fish by shutting it into a “bowl” where the water could never be aerated, nor that this gerbil was even more precariously trapped and was clearly on the verge of drowning.

So why wasn’t anyone else upset? Why weren’t they helping? Why weren’t they even looking?

I remembered I had a mini multipurpose tool in my bag, with a small screwdriver folded into it alongside its picks and files and blades. I knew the screwdriver’s tip was too small a size to remove screws as large as the ones holding the plexiglass in place, and began praying for help as I ran to the people around me, begging them to get involved as I searched for wherever I had left my bag.

I felt so alone, and realized I was scared. And no matter what I said, or however urgently I said it, everyone I met replied with silence. Frustrated, accusatory silence.

I found my bag, but when I pulled out the multipurpose tool I saw the screwdriver was now larger than it had been before. I ran to the box and franticly attacked the screws. As they came out they cracked and split the glass, letting the water rush out onto the floor.

(I never did see the fish again. Perhaps it was just there in the  beginning to help me understand the purpose of the box?)

I caught the soaking wet gerbil as it fell and laid it on top of the the low wall to catch its breath while I took my bag back to wherever I had grabbed it from. When I returned to the animal it appeared to be in worse shape than when I had left it only moments before, and none of the people standing around had stepped in to try to help it.

“What’s wrong with you?” I yelled at them. “It’s dying! Why didn’t any of you do something to help him while I was away?!”

More silence as shoulders were shrugged and backs were turned.

I scooped the little fellow up and cupped him in my hands, stroking his head and face with my fingertip and blowing warm air across his fur to dry him off. He opened his eyes and began moving around a bit. I was so happy that he was alive and recovering, and so angry that no one had done anything to help us. I didn’t know any more about what to do than any of them did, you know? They should’ve done something.

Why didn’t they do something?

Honduras Blog #4: There’s a hole in my bucket

Stepping into my *shower* this morning.

We got city water tonight around 7 pm so I was able to wash my hair after this morning’s “head-dunk-into-a-bucket” shower. Mim and I got a good chuckle out of that one. ;) (Click the picture to the right to read about Tegucigalpa’s water issues.) Now we’re waiting for someone else’s stuff to dry so we can throw our own things into the dryer. It’s good to have clean, dry socks here, folks. Good good good. I sweat right through mine down here and it. is. gross.The solution, of course, would be to just wear flip flops. But I’m not into  easy solutions. They’re just not my bag.

That and 1) I’m bad at navigating rough ground and sloping, broken sidewalks in slippy-slidey shoes, and 2) I don’t want to add my own two instruments to the near constant cacophonous orchestra of flip-flopped foot shuffling you hear down here. It’s an odd sound and you can never quite get away from it. It’s not a bad sound, it’s just like this weird kind of white noise that follows people around wherever they go.

I wish high heels werent so cute. Itd make not wearing them so much easier. :(

Speaking of shoes! Oh wow– I wish I could get pictures of the shoes the women wear here without looking like some kind’a creeper. I’d say about 85% of the women we see walking around down here are wearing 3″+ stilletos with zero support, narrow components, and held in place with the flimsiest of straps. With dresses, with jeans, with sweatpants. Little girls, young women, middle aged women, elderly ladies. The Ubiquitous Heel. Up and down broken sidewalks in a country comprised almost entirely of MOUNTAINS they walk mile after mile each day in shoes lacking enough raw materials to construct a headband, let alone a shoe. How they manage I will never know.

And certainly- any *sexiness* that could potentially be achieved with that look is completely lost on me as it is such a frightening site to behold.

The Phil-Beth-Alan team flew back to Kansas yesterday, which meant a field trip to the airport. There’s a beauty shop there that was advertising $5 manicures, and there’s a team of two men flying in tomorrow. Hmmm… May just have to go along for the ride and get my li’l digits prettied up.

I’ve had four manicures in my life. The first was when I was about 6 or 7 and my Aunt Sharon did my nails for me as a special Sharon-and-Ruth-Day treat. The second was when I was 25 when I was a bridesmaid in my friend Libby’s wedding. The third and fourth were cheap-o deals at paint-and-dash shops during plays at Sunset when I realized at the last minute my nails looked noticeably out of character and had to be fixed quickly so I could go on stage in less time than I’d need to run home and fix ‘em myself.

All this to say: I’ve never been much of a manicure kind of girl.

But I’ve also never been much of a “sit around and do nothing while travelling” kind of girl, so if manicures are what come up then by golly manicures are what I’m going to get!

Friday's dinner, left to right: Cheese, beef, chicken, refried beans, tortillas, rice, fried plantain, avocado, tomato & onion "salad" as topping

The other thing to do at the airport (besides browse souvenir stores where most things cost twice what we’d find them for in Valle de Angeles!) is grab a fancy frozen coffee for $1.74. I’ve already bought or been treated by Mimi to three yummy, frozen coffees since arriving here 10 days ago. I don’t go out for coffee that many times in a year in the States! This’ll be a hard treat to leave behind. :S

It’s not all airport glamor, though, folks. We’re not always hanging out around airplanes (I know, right?), running clinics, staring at each other across the sitting room, uploading pictures to Facebook, staring at each other across the dining room, or updating each other on whether or not the toilets can currently be flushed. Sometimes we’re making an outing of walking around the block to the gas station for a sandwich and an ice cream.

And by “sometimes” I mean “once, yesterday.” Donna, her son Stephen, Mimi and I were looking for something to do and settled on hitting up the Dippsa for empanadas, chips, canned fruit juice so concentrated I might be apple-d out for the next three years, and ice cream bars. I would definitely make that li’l journey again. ;)

Blanca and Mimi at Mision Caribe

We, uh, we do do* more than eat here, though. I promise. Yesterday morning Mimi’s dear friend Blanca joined us at the mission to go to church with us at… Oh dear. Now that I’m writing about it I’ve forgotten the name of the church. Nueva Esperanza maybe? Anyway… Blanca, who is now 80 years old, is from Honduras and she and Mimi have been friends for years. Mim was so happy to get to see her on this trip. Seeing the two of them greet each other at the airport when we first arrived was enough to make even me tear up.

The church we went to was just wonderful. The message, the worship service, the prayer time– thought-provoking, powerful stuff. Inspiring, even. While there we got to see another friend of Mim’s, Christine, who started the church with her husband several years ago as a place for young people to hang out, then a Bible study, then– well these things just really grow sometimes you know?

Mimi & Christine at Nueva Esperanza

Christine asked Mim for her help for a minute in their little clinic upstairs, during which time Mim saw they had boxes of donated eyeglasses there on the shelves. Blanca, who has pastored two different churches in her time, is no longer able to read the Bible for herself ever since her own glasses broke. Perfect timing! One donated pair of glasses later and Blanca’s able to read on her own again. :D

In another instance of “hallylooyahthatsneat!” Christine told Mimi about this Laurie woman who’d recently moved down here from the States to work with feeding programs for kids and who goes to their church and works with friends of theirs.

Me: Wait wait wait. Laurie… Is her name Laurie M– by any chance?

Christine: Yes. How did you know? Do you know her?

Me: OHMYGOSHOHMYGOSH! MIMIICANTBELIEVEIT! THISISHER! THISISTHEWOMANWHOSEBLOGIREAD! THISISWHOIWANTEDTOMEET!

That’s more or less how the entire conversation went. I couldn’t believe I’d just stumbled upon an opportunity to meet this woman whose mobile library project has been on my mind since I first found her blog this Spring. How awesome is that?!

10:10 pm. That’s late enough to go to bed, right?

*Hee hee hee! That one’s for you dad!