I've started to take one long video of the commute to and from Las Minitas where we are buildig the school.
The strangers who stand on the side of the road and we pick up. The farmers. The cows trotting down the road. The mountain. The giant piles of rocks you have to shove out of the way to launch over a rut.
The piglets that rode down squealing something awful today, cinched up in a rice bag, their snouts out, waiting to be sold in El Sauce.
It's going to be a longish video, a bit "Blair Witch," but the rideis always exciting.
It's a good example, to me, of how pretty much nothing goes as planned or the way you think it is going to go here.
Everything is fluid.
Even the most simple things change. The guys didn't finish the windows on the school, so they stayed overnight. Erlinda is now going up in the truck. You can think you are having dinner at 7, but she's gone. You're in a thunderstorm in the back of a pick-up and no longer going back to write your blog but hang out at a roadside stand and drink a beer, waiting for Mom Nature to pass. I got out of the truck to put an elderly woman who had to go to the hospital in the front seat.
All seems simple. And no big deal. And it isn't.
I want to control everything all the time, and how it turns out. Here, every day is a reminder you can't, and because I have no obligations, I can more easily teach myself to go with the flow.
In the United States, if I want to go to the movies or a concert or have to get to work, I make plans, check the time, buy a ticket, or set an alarm and get in, I drive my car, and unless it breaks down, I'm getting there with no sidetracks or surprises, which is convenient but a bit boring?