Michael: Spoiled

Rumble rumble car
Brings the music up the road
Before fading away.

Friday, November 25, 2017

For the most part, we’ve have been very lucky in our three years in Volcan to only have one really close neighbor, and that’s been our very good landlord. But that’s changing now, and though it’s understandable that a property owner isn’t going to let a house sit vacant just so I can have peace and quiet, I do find the prospect of new neighbors irritating.

At the moment it’s kind of hard to tell exactly who our new neighbors are. For the first few days there have been four adult women, two men, two children and a dog in and out of the less then 1,000 sq. foot casita. I’m sure most of them are family members just staying there the first few days to  help with the move in, but only time will tell who will end up there. I’m rooting for an older couple without the kids or the dog, but we’ll just have to see how it shakes out.

Looking at the good news/ bad news ledger at the start; The dog barks a lot. Maybe it’ll settle down once it’s familiar with it’s surroundings, or maybe it’s just a short term visitor, but I doubt that. On the good news side, at least they’ve been taking it in at night so it doesn’t bark through the night.

They also haven’t cranked up any tunes to work to. Living with a booming base beat is and always has been my concept of hell. It’s encouraging that  no one there seems to have a boom box. That doesn’t mean it’ll stay that way, but at least they don’t seem addicted to living to a loud rhythm like so many people are no matter where I’ve lived.

It’s possible that we have at least a good nine months left here. We’ve lived the majority of that in peace. I hope our good fortune will continue and our new neighbors will be as respectful of our privacy as we will be of theirs.

Michael: Rise and Shine

A random patter
Begins another morning
Of this long winter.

Thursday, November 23, 2017

Part of the jingle to Candid Camera, one of the original reality TV. shows, and one of my favorite shows while I was growing up, went “It’s fun to laugh at yourself. See yourself as others do.” I tend to agree with the first sentiment, but I’m having a problem admitting to the truth of the second sentence.

Over the years I have become more and more of an early riser. To the point where I often wake up at 4 and sleeping in would have me up at 6 at the latest. Getting up that early usually sees me in bed at 8:30 and on a “party” night I might make it up until 10.

I can laugh at how old fogie that sounds, but I hate to admit that as I approach 60, I may have become an old fogie.

Michael: Packages

Again the rain falls
As hard as an infant’s tears
Who’s lost his mother.

Tuesday, November 21, 2017

When we were kids shortly after Thanksgiving we would receive a big package from our aunts in Minnesota filled with tins of all kinds of various home made cookies and treats. Opening that big cardboard box was almost as exciting as opening presents on Christmas day. It was also one of the few times a package was delivered to our house and it was the only time a package came that wasn’t specifically designated for one of our parents.

Like many experiences of childhood, as I became an adult the shine of having packages delivered has worn off a bit. For one, living in Los Angeles, I became spoiled and would become agitated if a package wasn’t delivered after a couple of days.

For another, unlike my aunts’ yearly tins of goodies, I was ordering much more frequently and all the packages now arrived with an invoice reminding me that I had become my own year round favorite relative. So the smile on my face that accompanies opening packages was being tainted a bit with the accompanying worry frowns knowing how often and how much I was dinging my budget.

Now, having moved to the boonies of Panama, receiving packages has somewhat combined the experiences of my childhood and adulthood. Because it’s more expensive and time consuming, we rarely have anything shipped here. This year we had my mom ship to us twice. And because it’s a become a rarity again, it’s also more exciting again.

However, that thrill is still tainted by my footing the bill. Last week I was so excited about having my mom ship a package to us that I temporarily reverted to my childhood enthusiasm and forgot to ask her about everything that was being shipped.

That was a very costly mistake. Kimme had ordered a hardback book and a few other items that could’ve waited to be picked up when one us travels to the states. When the package arrived here, we were contacted by the shipping service that an invoice was required before they could ship it from Panama City to here in Volcan. The agent we talked to at Air Box Express told us that usually happens when packages weigh over 10 lbs. If I had taken a deep breath and relaxed instead of prancing around like a little expectant kid, I could’ve saved us a lot in customs and duty fees.

Damned those early childhood thrills!

Michael: Two Funerals

The two funeral
Processions move slowly pass
The gymnasium.

Sunday, November 19, 2017

I’ve seen more funerals pass me by here in Volcan in the past three years then I believe I saw in my whole life in Southern California. On Friday, while we were at the gym, we had the rare treat of witnessing back to back processions.

I’m not sure why most funerals seem to take place on Fridays. Perhaps it’s for practical reasons as it gives people a good excuse to take part of Friday off, so they can still save Saturdays for partying and Sundays for family and church. Kimme says this is being a little mean spirited and she‘s right. Last night there was one of those rare parties that went loudly until two in the morning so I’m writing this on a very sardonic two hours of sleep.

Regardless, all the funeral processions here in Volcan move from the main street out of town toward Cuesta de Piedra, which I know has at least three small burial grounds. But that would be a very long slow walk as it’s a good 9 miles away, so I’m presuming that once the outskirts of town are reached, either everyone hops in a car or there are closer cemeteries than just the ones I know of in Cuesta.

I suppose I could walk along and find out for myself; kind of Harold and Maude style, but I think I’ll just ask our coach at the gym next time we see a procession head on by.

Either way, it’s kind of quirky that while we’re in the gym trying to stave off the effects of aging and the inevitable that awaits us all, we’re privy to a lofty view of so many of the dead and their somber friends and relatives slowly passing by.

Michael: It's All Pipes

Delicious mornings
Are the long quiet shadows
Of evening stars.

November 15, 2017

Several months ago when our water pressure diminished to a daytime drip or was totally nonexistent, I chalked it up to bad city planning and figured it was just something we were going to have to live with the rest of our time here in Volcan.

I was also grateful that we had what almost all gringo homes have here, an auxiliary electric pump, or ‘bomba‘, as they‘re referred to here. Without it we often wouldn’t have any water and wouldn’t have been able to take a hot shower as our on demand hot water system won’t kick on without adequate pressure.

But this past weekend my assumption proved wrong. The problem was we were getting our water from an old pipe that has slowly clogged with dirt. The city switched us over to a new pipe and voila!, well, actually more like a subdued ‘yeah, we have daytime water and enough pressure to run a warm shower again without use of the pump.

I’m reasonably certain we’ll never have the jet engine pressure we were accustomed to in the states, but it sure is nice to know that when things go south, it’s not inevitable that they stay there, and sometimes things do get better relatively quickly and painlessly.

Michael: The Grand Total

It is beautiful;
The afternoon rain’s patter
A frenzy of peace.

November 12, 2017

On Friday I went to the dentist and had the small chip filled in from my bicycle accident 5 weeks ago. That brings to an end the medical procedures necessary to complete my recovery. The cost was $30 bringing the grand total medical costs to $585.

Outside of the medical cost, I’m replacing my helmet, a jersey and gloves. The costs of those items are $110 plus whatever shipping and customs will be.

At the moment the package from the states is being held up in a catch 22 in customs in Panama City. Customs wants an invoice of the goods, which is inside the box that I’d prefer they not open as it also contains a cashier’s check and a few other small items that could be easily lost. I’m sure I’ve gone through this before but I don’t recall how it was resolved. I’m hoping I can take care of it at the local office of the shipping company, Air Box Express. and they’ll convince customs to just take my word for what’s inside. That’ll be tomorrow’s living overseas adventure.

Michael: The Back of the Packers

Holidays are hell
And this week in Panama
They had two of them.

Sunday, November 5, 2017

I had planned on running a small local 12k race here this morning. A race that I can walk to the start right from our little cabana. But because it’s a very small local race there were no posters up stating what time the race started so I just figured I would count on it starting the same time it did last year. That was off by about an hour.

And because the race started an hour earlier, while I walked toward the start I got to see the very back of the packers slowly jog by my little dirt road as I walked out to warm up for the race that had just passed me by.

Since I was already dressed up for a run, what the hell. I decided to make the best of it and just go for a jog anyway. I can only vaguely remember bringing up the rear in a race and that was at a duathlon that was being run in waves and I missed mine by a few minutes and that’s about all I recall, as it was about 20 years ago and I was in a panic trying to catch up. Today I hadn’t paid for an expensive trip or even the small race fee and was only using the race as a substitute for my usual Sunday run, so it was a rare chance to run a race with people and just relax and not worry about pace or what not. And that was enjoyable.

What I found interesting from observing the few runners at the tail end of the race was that most of them seemed to be running with their heads down and as if they were performing penance for some unconfessed sins.

And although I felt like encouraging them to lift their heads up, at least they were out there for whatever reasons were motivating them. It’s not my place, I figure, to play sports trainer/psychologist on the go and exert what I believe to be the proper form/mindset on people who are out there making the effort. I doubt I would appreciate any stranger trying to clue me in on what they thought my mistakes were while I was in the middle of a run. We were all out there moving. And that’s what counts.

Michael: Chinita

Running from the moon
Is a useless endeavor
that feels radiant.

October 28, 2017

There are aspects of the culture here I’m sure I’d never understand no matter how long we stayed here or how well I learned Spanish. But there are bits and pieces that intrigue me and one of those is how the Chinese are treated here.

Yesterday, for example, while we were at a panderia run by Chinese immigrants, a lady waiting to pay for a drink called out, “Chinita” to get the clerk‘s attention. Now I know from experience, including the childhood experience of being called “Miguelito” at elementary school because there were three Michaels in the class, that the “ito/ita” suffix literally means “little” but I always thought that it sometimes had the connotation of liking or being familiar with.

So I found it curious that this woman would call out for the Chinese woman who ran the store using, “Chinita”. It seems both paradoxically nice and prejudicial. But in the states if you were to try getting a person of African American’s attention by calling out “little black person,” I’m sure it wouldn’t be taken as a term of endearment or as a harmless call like, “Excuse me, Miss”, would be.

Fortunately, Kimme does speak Chinese and she’s promised to ask the Chinese clerk how she feels about it. And as soon as we take up Spanish again with our teacher, I’m going to get her take on it as well.

Note: The night of the day I wrote this I was watching PBS News Hour on you tube and saw a report that stated that the Houston Astros first baseman, after hitting a homerun off a pitcher of Chinese descent, made slanted eyes with his hands and referred to the pitcher as “chinito.” This was reported as a derogatory term.

Michael: Solitude

Forever rain falls
From the gathering gray skies
Carrying us away.

Monday, October 23. 2017

Kimme and I crave solitude. We get it for the most part here, but we’re greedy and want more. That’s one of the reasons we’ll be returning to the states sometime in the near future.

Why are we more likely to find peace in the states?

Part of that, as I believe how a lot of life works, is dependant upon luck.
Kimme’s brother may offer us land to build on in the hill country in Texas. Land in our residence of preference, California, is expensive. But if things don’t work out in Texas we may investigate the boonies in California.

Another reason we feel more apt to find quiet in the states is that the buildings are quieter. I haven’t checked the world noise comparison chart, but it seems there enough loud people here per capita as we experienced in Southern California. The difference is in Southern California and Texas, because of construction that routinely makes use of insulation and double pained windows, it’s easier to shut out the noise in the states.

We also are just ignorant of what’s culturally acceptable here. But it does seem to us that though many of our neighbors are very considerate and quiet, they seem to tolerate the few loud neighbors much more so than what we were accustomed to in the states.

We don’t want the world, just a very small peaceful corner of it. We hope that’ll prove to be a possibility sometime in the near future in the good old U.S. of A.

Michael: Skin Deep?

Dirty brick buildings
Covered with new neon lights
Are where we are now.

Saturday, October 21, 2017

With my face healing from my accident and after having just read How the Body Knows It’s Mind, I’ve been thinking a lot about that old expression, “ Beauty is only skin deep”.

According to the author of the book, the body/mind interaction is a two way dialogue, with the use and condition of the body having a heavy influence on how we think and feel about the world and ourselves.

So now facing (pun intended) the prospect of my looks being slightly altered, I’m curious as to how the spiral of interactions between how people might subtly treat me differently and how I may inturn respond differently to said treatment … will spiral into subtle personality changes over time.
I’m sure with age that may happen anyway, and not just due to how our looks evolve, but also due to other physical changes like our slow degradation in physical abilities and not so readily apparent internal physical changes related to hormones and the like.

All of this is to say I’m grateful that the extent of my injuries are minor and the only long term effects may be some small scars on my face. But I was already worried about getting uglier and older, and scratching my face up is only going to speed up that process and exacerbate the worries.

But at least having the two remaining stitches removed from my lip yesterday that were hidden under some facial hair, didn’t cost me much financial stress - only $15. Still not quite done on that front as I haven’t visited the dentist yet about my chipped tooth.

So who’s to say what the total costs of a minor accident is when you look beyond the medical expenses and into a mirror that reminds you you’ve changed the way you appear to yourself and others for the rest of your life?

Michael: Go Short Old Man

Cool noon whisperings;
Close your eyes, lie still, enjoy
My soothing caress.

Sunday, October 15, 2017

This is an exciting and fortunate time for me. I’m recovering at the right time from a bicycle accident that could’ve been a lot worse.

It’s the right time because it’s October, the last month of the rainy season here. I just finished a series of ultras in the states and have months to plan and train for shorter events in the California this upcoming summer. So backing off a bit while I recover hasn’t hurt.

I’m fortunate because as I approach 60, I’m in excellent health and in a position to train and compete at a high level in my age group.

It’s exciting because unlike many events in life, I can’t rationalize putting off until tomorrow. By that I mean if I want to perform at a high standard in my new age group, now is the time. As the years pass I won’t be able to turn back the clock and ask for a do over. It’s now or never.

And that gives weight to decisions and makes training and competing more intriguing.

My plan is to hit the short stuff first; racing between a mile and up to 25ks.
I figure that way I’ll have a good year of form training under my belt before I tackle longer events the following year.

But maybe that’s backwards, and I’d be better off attacking ultras first then stepping into speed work. There’s only one way to find out and there’s also no going back. That’s why I’m really looking forward to turning 60 and discovering if I’m taking the right approach to competing in this new age group.

Michael: Update on the Fuel Belt Uno

Afternoon showers
Are the baptismal waters
God promised the earth.

Friday, October 13, 2017

A few months ago I wrote how disappointed I was in the Fuel Belt Uno as a race pack. I used it at the Peak Marathon in San Diego and it wouldn’t stay on my hips and kept floating up to my waist. Because of that for the Los Pinos 50k a few months later I used a Naked Band and was very pleased with it. That’s what I’ll be using in long races from here on out.

But for the past several weeks I’ve been using the Fuel Belt on training runs, and have discovered that my initial regrets were pre-mature. For whatever reasons, it’s been sitting comfortably lower than it did during the Peak Marathon. Perhaps it’s newness or my race nerves caused me to cinch it too tight or change my stride in such a way as to cause it to move.

So now I feel a bit irritated with myself for being so quick to knock it and replace it without taking the time and thoughtfulness to discover it wasn’t necessarily the pack’s design that was at fault. Mea Culpa.

It’s, at least for me, a fine 1 1/2 hour training pack that would also be useful under certain race conditions. For most long races though I’ll still be using the Naked Band or a vest. But that isn’t to knock the Fuel Belt Uno. It’s working for me and I’m very happy that I didn’t toss it in the give away pile.

Michael: Cayo

Metal roof raindrops
Rise to a long crescendo
Before they're silent.

Thursday, October 12, 2017

One of the first cars I had was a dull green Nova. I’m not sure when I found out that ‘no va’ in Spanish translates to ‘no go’, but I’m sure I found that more amusing than Chevy did.

Since I’ve had my bike, a Focus Cayo, we’ve experienced three crashes together in three years, but it wasn’t until this last crash that I thought there may be an amusing link between my bike’s name and my high rate of crashes. Close but no cigar; in Spanish ‘caer’ is the verb to fall and ‘caido’ means ‘ I fall’.

However, while we were watching Seinfeld this week I noticed George talking about someone who fell and saw the translation ‘cayo’ in the subtitles. I looked it up and wouldn’t you know it, ‘cayo’ is the past tense of fall and means ‘he fell’.

Now that’s amusing.

If I were rich I might consider replacing my bike, but I’m not and the bike is a great bike, if not for the amusing moniker. But I’m sure next time round I’ll do a bit more research into any amusing translations of any bike I’m considering buying. At the moment that dream machine would be a Cannondale CAAD 12. Even without any translation the CAAD implies ‘cad’, which does have it’s own negative denotation in English, but for some reason I kind of like that.