Missed call

     In the end, the bad news wasn't anywhere as bad as expected. When my mom called me and declared those words I held my breath and braced for the worst. I could feel my head slowly dissociating in anticipation. Because bad things always seem to happen in succession. Never one without two, two without three, three without four. And how many bad pieces of news were we at now, anyhow? Between the two oceans, I had lost count.
     But in the end it was just property damage - a tempo collapsed under the weight of snow and neglect.  It was only dented steel. A broken windshield. Competing insurance claims in the making.
     The biggest tragedy was that we made such a big deal of it in the first place. That we had to go there again. We can be such small people sometimes. Small people with our small problems. The only thing that should have mattered was that you were lucky enough not to have been sitting in that car. Life was kind enough to spare us that scenario. Kind enough to spare me that phone call.
     And so I spend the rest of the day trying to remember just that. Through all the conversations and the semi-awkward chance meetings, that's what I whispered to the back of my own head.
     Thank you, life, for sparing me that phone call.
       

a little more lightweight

     Today on the drive back from Subaru I didn't take that side street off the service road. The one I had taken just the other night. The one with the tiny magical church at the end of it. With the front-lit Jesus statue (or is it Mary? Jesus) just standing there, inviting and creepy. The most unassuming Heaven's Door you could ever imagine. Just sitting there. Before that final right back onto Saint-Laurent.
     Turns out it wouldn't have been the right way anyway. A large tree had cracked in half just above the trunk and crashed right into the cab of a parked truck. The truck was not spared and the street was completely blocked by a damn of thick branches. My brain registered the shape of the disaster out the corner of my eye but it took me a solid twenty five seconds and one reluctant u-turn to realize this was not the kind of thing you see everyday. So I photographed and reported back. Even though I had vaguely heard about the power outages on the way back. Even if I vaguely heard the wind howling all day. The nondescript knocking around of plastic garbage bin on asphalt as I played phone in for a bargain! with at  least three different dealers, just to see who would throw in something (anything) more than just the winter carpets that would compliment the shiny hunk of metal awaiting me at the end of the exercise. And this was a good day to be investing in metal. An auspicious day to buy a car - the start of Diwali and all.
     But today was something else. Today was so many things for so many different reasons.
     A missed birthday with no phone call. Some last-minute goodbye wishes. A day to reach out. To rebuild. To nurture. Not from the ground up. Never again from the ground up.
     Everything I set out to do today I did. The car. The hot water tanks. The re-connect and the background check. Whatever had been lingering around since I got back, really. Whatever I couldn't get away with blaming on jet lag any longer. The afterglow had dimmed a little. I had been beaten back down into reality. As if. As if I had expected anything less from life. Everything except the evil eye. And maybe the old tightening of the chest, first thing in the morning. So I had to let a little more of that weight go today. For myself and my well being. More promises followed. Tomorrow I would even start to run. And when the wind finally started to die down a little we watched the Muppets. Because it was still in the DVR. And we were all so much older than we might have been our first time watching. But there was still so much magic in those puppets. And everything seemed to come alive when I saw all those smiling faces go up on my wall. Those rows and rows of beautiful and colourful smiles. You would find no inner struggle in any of those rows of smiles. There would only always be life.
   

one day, even the ocean will go still and silent

"Robbie. Feels like you've been living here forever, ya."

Like I had become part of the furniture, I joked back. Smita had been repeating that line since day one. I knew she always meant it in the best possible way. But then I'm not sure what triggered the thought on this night. It had unfolded like any other. The three of us would have our midnight meal together, without fail. Some nights we'd watch Arnab Goswami grill some pigheaded official on The Newshour, other times we'd just sit on the couch and discuss books I should read, share family stories or laugh giddily about how much weight the three of us had gained since I came to Bombay. It was a good thing too, we'd agree, over green tea. We had all found some kind of happy routine together, temporary as it would be. But on this night Smita couldn't imagine how it would feel when Puji and I would no longer be there. 

In many ways Smita had become the adopted older sister I never had. Forget that I was actually the eldest. She was far more responsible and mature than I would ever be. But we still had a lot in common. We had both just come out of very long-term relationships. We both looked to avoid unnecessary drama in our lives and called things out exactly as we saw them. So I can't say I was surprised we got along so well. I just never thought I'd have an opportunity to get to know her as well as I had. There had been several times where we got to speak about our pasts, one on one, while Puji was either sleeping or doing her own thing. I always spoke to her as honestly as possible. I never made myself out to be the good guy. And what I had written in that letter to her still stood. This is why we never felt like strangers. 

But on this one particular night she wanted to hear the story of how Puji and I met. She was, after all, a storyteller at heart. It's not as if she didn't know most of it already. But then Puji had managed to keep many of those early months secret from her - possibly because the two of them had been fighting so much at the time. And while she had never really approved of any of her sister's choices, with me there had been little protest. Just be careful. That was all Smita had said. Maybe it was a feeling. Despite her realistic streak, Smita still believed all things happened for a reason.

It felt like ages since I had told this story. I had forgotten how beautiful a story it was. And the fact that I had come to know Puji in a completely different way didn't diminish that one bit. 

I filled in as many blanks as I could, especially about Amy. She was an important part of the story. And with her birthday looming she had been on my mind a lot. I still worried for her happiness. I had put her through hell, even when trying my best to be honest. I had lied to her. I had fallen off the map emotionally and pulled the rug out from under a life we had been building up for so many years. And then I had given her no choice but to move on. I knew she would too. Maybe she already was. It was hurting less to think so. I felt free to speak about all this in front of Smita. I felt free. It was a feeling more powerful than any guilt or homesickness. All I felt that night was intense love for all concerned.

Puji and I shared storytelling duties and quietly smiled at each other every now and then. It might have been the nicest conversation the three of us had had together.

I think Puji and I had needed to hear the story as much as her sister had. Maybe we had lost track of just how incredible ours was. Smita smoked, listened and asked many questions. Was she comparing my story to her own? I knew she understood that somewhere along the line I had fallen out of love with Amy. Maybe the two of us had grown too comfortable together. And us being best friends had just made it all the more heart wrenching to say goodbye. I thought these were the kind of things only people who had lived through long-term relationships could truly understand. But then that was only half of the story. Smita also had to know that the only reason things had worked out between Puji and I was because we both wanted it to. God or fate alone would not have been enough. 

She told me how the Buddhists believed that any person incapable of learning from their mistakes in one life would be destined to repeat them in the next life. Those who harmed you would reappear in different forms. Even from a non-religious angle this made perfect sense to me. He who doesn't learn from history is doomed to repeat it. I knew in my heart that Smita would heal as she needed to. Just as Amy would. And as for Puji and I, these moments made our own insecurities seem inconsequential. It was exactly the kind of night we all needed to have. And I hoped there would be many more like this before we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways.

Fiona

To be honest, I always thought Fiona would have made a beautiful girl's name. I think we both did.

But then it's just as well. It did not go to waste. Now and for the rest of my days, I will forever associate that name not only with my favourite singer, but with my little Black Beauty. My little Fiona Cat. My little Fionakis.

For the longest time, I wasn't exactly sure what to write about her. Every cat that I've had the pleasure of knowing has come with a very particular personality. It just takes time to figure it out; to discover those special little things that make you slowly fall for them, until that day you realize things just feel a little emptier when they're no longer around. Before that day comes they're just cute kittens: playful, persistent and often intolerable. Cute kittens all kind of look the and act the same. Kind of like kids before they learn how to talk.

I can't pinpoint the exact moment Fiona won me over. You never can, you know. But ever since I've been away from her, I miss her pudgy little miniature body. I miss the way she always greets me at the door. The way she always waits for Pepe at the window by the couch, screams when he's arrived and then pounces on him demanding a giant bear hug the second he gets in. I'll miss her impossibly soft coat. Her slipper soft personality. The feel of her sandpaper tongue against my fingernails. Her insufferable attraction to the mouse pointer projected on the television. And the casual way she almost always comes around whenever I put my feet up on the couch to find the most comfortable way to sit on my crotch. A calming closeness - this is at the heart of our symbiotic connection.

Some cats punish you with the cold shoulder for skipping out on them. Not Fiona. Fiona's got a heart of gold. She always comes around, no matter how many days it's been. On days I do get to see her now it's like I never left. And she'll probably still come around when those days become weeks and those weeks become months. She'll probably get a little heavier. She might lose that innocent gleam in her eye. She might even become skeptical and have to eye me over with her jet black goatee,  if only for a confused second. But then she'll smell me and I'll be forgiven. I'm pretty sure of that.

And in that way, I guess things will always remain simple between us. No hard feelings. No regrets. No quiet, awkward disappointment. We will always be tattooed to each other in this special way, until the day she is only tattooed to me. The same way Pepe is. The same way Tigger will always be.

There will always be another day to chill, Fiona. I promise.

when i find the words to say i'm sorry

Today I broke your heart for the last time.

You asked me for one more explanation and begged me for one last chance. You wanted to prove to me that you could change. That I was right all along. That we were still worth saving.

I always wondered what it might feel like to attend my own funeral; to watch everyone I ever loved grieve for me without being able to utter so much as a word. To just stand silently in that room with no way to tell any of them that it was okay. That I was still there. To tell them that life moves on and that we move on with it, in one form or another. Today I got a taste of that silent helplessness. Today I held you in my arms as you shook and cried without being able to offer any kind of meaningful consolation. Today, I might as well have been a cadaver: Cold. Motionless. Dead to you.

The human heart can hold so much love. Yet it can absorb only so much pain before it recoils into itself. I have seen, felt and caused so much of your pain that my own heart has gone numb. It does not want to deal with pain anymore. It wants to laugh. It wants to learn. It wants to be set free.

I hope your heart will feel like mine someday soon, Pussycat. But we all have to scrape the depths of our own personal hells before we can cry those beautiful tears of joy.

It's the only way we ever learn.

because sometimes life just rips you

I believe that's how the saying goes. Whatever the exact wording, I get the implication now.

I went to the pad Friday night hoping to have an inspired night of music - the kind I feel I've been needing for a while now. What I got instead was a violent stomache virus. I tried to fight it at first, even if my mind was telling me it was not going to end well. (Having a decade-long vomit-free streak will work wonders for your denial) But Amy's texts buried those hopes. She was already down and out. And in the end it was much, much stronger than me. And when it finally came, there was nowhere to run. So I just lay down on the floor with my garbage can and took it. Not like a man, more like a child. A scared little child.

After four hellish hours I decided enough was enough and drove home. Whatever was left of that night and most of my Saturday became a nauseus blur. I figured things couldn't get much worse.

Except tonight they did. My empty stomach was no match for my heavy heart. Sometimes there are fears and doubts that you carry with you for years and years. You keep them inside because it's easier to do so. Even if you get the occasional heartache, you rarely spill your beans. It just seems easier that way. Sometimes, you can even make yourself feel better by remembering just how long it's been that you haven't said anything to upset that delicate balance. As if that in itself is proof that things are really okay.

But then someone comes up out of the blue and unintentionally sticks their fingers down your throat.

And everything comes out. All your fears and all your doubts and all the tears you've never cried before - except maybe alone to yourself over a beautiful chord progression or a good movie. And then you feel the weight of your own words and the damage they're inflicting and you cry some more. You want to take them back. Stuff them back into your mouth. But you can't. The damage has already been done and you are both just smoking wreckage under the weight of it all.

So you pull her to you and hold on as tight as you can.

While you still can.

only crashing through in waves

i felt like i had been at the beach all day, waiting for the other David and my parents to show up so we could hop on a plane for Toronto. the beach was impossibly deep, the white sand spanning to forever from the subway station right in front of it. the sea was rough. the waves were coming in at sharp angles and i was instantly reminded of the Caribbean coast of Costa Rica, minus the surfers. it was even hotter than i expected. my black hoodie was suffocating me and rubbing against my irritated skin. David had already been there when I arrived, barely said hi and headed straight for the sand. i waited further back and ran into Stevie B again in the parking lot. we had met earlier at some strange gathering with Joey and a few other people from my distant past. he had pulled me aside in a different parking lot and told me under his breath that all of them had been staring somewhat hungrily at Amy. nothing serious, he told me. but you could tell he was bothered. i sincerely shrugged it off. besides, Joey seemed more concerned about finding more high rise construction work now that he had mortgaged a house, a car and countless other things. the old cart before the horse routine - typical Joey. i felt almost no pity for him and we talked about just that as i got into Stevie's car. "if i would have done the same thing back at Apple Pie, we would have recorded with the Chandlers," he joked, emphasizing the last bit in his signature way. i was waiting for more jokes about the Digi-02 and latency. instead he made a sharp right and went back to talking about all the equipment he was going to buy for the studio once his business dealings were done and he could finally settle in. i kind of started to feel sorry for him; i felt i had heard all this before. it was only back at the beach that i remembered he was scared of flying. he assured me he'd be fine this time. that's when my parents walked out of the subway. introductions all around. i told them Stevie would be flying with us as well. we would go back to find David and then get going. we started into the water together and then i warned my mom the waves were really rough. i said it in a way that would simultaneously prove my own toughness, except the wave that suddenly formed the second the words spilled off my tongue became a thing of sheer terror. rising in that same impossible distance, it went from six feet to two hundred feet in what seemed like the blink of an eye. everyone screamed and started to run. i saw the wave crash right behind me, then swallow me from behind. i wondered in that instance if i had taken enough of a breath to deal with the aftermath.

just another ordinary day

i woke up late. and tired. maybe a little too much socializing in the last couple of days. too much drinking. too much food. too much strange conversation and awkward silence to swallow all at once. what doesn't kill you, they say. so with a fresh breeze and nothing better to do, i got lost in and old Steven King classic. stop thinking about deranged men answering ads to have other men eat them alive and focus instead on a nightmarish clown obsessed with storm drains and floating bodies and colourful balloons. i'm praying the movie won't ruin this re-read for me. so far so good. i look up and Pepe is walking toward the house with something unmistakable dangling from his mouth. the fourth gift in the last week or so and i knew he was going to deposit it inside the house under the table. except the mouse was alive and Amy wasn't quick enough to close the patio door. he scurried, slightly punctured, from room to room as i tried to shut as many doors as possible. i finally caught him in the mop pale and then wiped off the tiny blood stain on my modem. i let him out in the dug up lot just up the alley, figuring he might live to end up right back under my table. i never finished my beer and went to pick up some red snapper with Stef. he told me i should stuff some fresh basil down his throat. for flavour. i never realized fish had teeth. his dead eye watched me from the cutting board and i felt compelled to touch it. Amy slapped me on the back in a horrible reflex. we laughed. i sat down to write this and the music went off for the first time in three weeks.

just a cut of this cookie desert

We spent last night in the suburbs. The new inner-city suburbs. Where every house is some slight variation of brown and beige and shingles and stone. Where the yards are huge, the pools in-ground and the sprinkler systems all programmed to go on after dark. Where the trees are either so young or so quietly absent that you can actually feel the concavity of the sky. And where it's so quiet you can actually forget there is any life beyond the company you keep.

so to recap...

i feel like i've been everywhere but right here. and this is the last you'll hear of any of this because i promised myself when i started writing this thing that i wasn't going to become that person that wasted all his words writing about how little he was writing.

my Nonna had the perfect quote today (the way she always seems to, you should know). spend all your time focused on every little step you're taking and you simply will never get anywhere. how is this relevant to me in this moment? i really can't say. but it feels relevant. because today was a quick baptism with family i don't get to see as often as i should and yesterday night was just a bike ride to the Jazz Fest with Cromeo in the background, street hot dogs and dorky tourists asking why you're lucky enough to be walking around with a group of pretty girls you hardly even know. and before that there were concrete walls to be built on sticky summer days. and before that perfect strangers convinced that you're always smiling, even when it's just on the inside. and before that a kick ass day at the water slides with Amy. and before that Fiona Apple in all her raw and angry glory. and before that...

not sure i want to go back any further. what's done is done. all seemingly inconsequential steps on some kind of path that is remains very much undefined. so we look ahead. and keep walking.  

staggered, in the vineyard

The last couple of weeks have taken on quite a blurry quality.
Not much is standing out right now.
I have been navigating from backyard to building, through rain and shine and at all hours of the week.
Hacking through weeds. Digging up asphalt. Shovelling and then raking and then dumping and then hauling and then filling and then backfilling that same mountain of screening in and out of various holes; and into and out of a grumpy but otherwise willing Franco.
And I've been doing it all with a peaceful calm. For the most part.
Start in the morning, skip lunch and do it until its done. And even though it's never done, sooner or later you turn around and realize you've gotten somewhere and created something beautiful. Another something to look at. Another somewhere to be.
I got a really nice feeling when my brother and I picked out that perfect little Japanese Ivory Silk tree - just realizing that I might be lucky enough to watch it grow for the next twenty five years. It was almost the same feeling I got the night before when the three of us were out in the backyard, finally planting the garden by the portable spotlight. Like we were the coolest kids on the block.

because the World doesn't even start to sum it up

I probably don't write about or mention her nearly enough here - even if her name does appear more than any other. But then again those closest to us rarely get the recognition they deserve.

But Amy is the first person I see every morning and almost always the last person I see before I go to bed. She is my polar opposite partner in crime. She is my my lover, my anchor and my best friend. My personal hairdresser and interior decorator. My biggest fan and my most poignant critic. Sometimes I can't believe I've known her for more than half my existence. She knows me like few people know me and has shone through the brightest and darkest moments of my life. And I know she will always be there for me, no matter what.

But let's focus on today. Because today is her birthday.

So Happy Birthday Pussycat. Even if you are the only person reading this, it's important that you know how much you mean to me. And how beautiful you are.

deep down. down in the trenches

the streets were all torn up and the soggy screening was bubbling out of the trenches like puss from an open wound. the city was a haemophiliac, slowly bleeding to death. 

i drove straight to the Mothership, where i found John Watters and some other tenants packing up in a hurry, like a hundred-year storm was just around the corner. i went in through the back and found an angry Berretta kicking around stuff that belonged to me without very much remorse. he looked extremely frustrated - Hulk-like, almost - and didn't seem to notice me watching him. my high school best friend David Lettieri was watching as well, laughing and exaggerating every last detail of this apparent freak out. i left and found another room under the terrace where Jules and a group of musicians were listening to a song with a killer Motown baseline. one guy was gushing over every last note, declaring the player in question a genius on the spot after being unable to fathom how such a groove could be written in the first place. i just looked at Jules and we laughed silently to ourselves. i had to get to a supper at my parents' but assured everyone i'd be back later. on my way out the door I was ambushed by some strange girl with a bottomless super soaker. she wet all my hair and ruined my mood. i grabbed a hose and sprayed back so hard her body was being flung back under all the pressure. satisfied that i had earned my proper revenge, i got into the car with Amy and my brother and drove to RDP. 

there were giant black bears and huge mutant lions mauling everything in sight - like a mutant zoo had inexplicably exploded and released all its dangerous contents into the city. it felt like the end of the world had arrived in cartoon format, so as not to be taken too seriously. Amy's little Civic finally met its match and came under the grip of a huge 15-foot cat. the wheels were spinning in mid air before the animal finally let go for a second. we managed to drive away but quickly came across one of those giant trenches that couldn't be crossed. i screamed for everyone to get out of the car but my brother never made it. the giant cat pounced and flung him at least 30 feet into the air with one powerful swing of his paw. my brother hit the side of LDV Elementary with a sickening thud and then bounced another two or three times before his body sank into the grass. his eyes were glazed over like those of a dead soldier. 

the old switcheroo

we were on the big stage, Amy and I. kind of like the auditorium where we had our high school graduation ceremony. despite the size of the place it still felt really intimate - almost like we were being simultaneously filmed and watched on giant screens. she was behind a drum set and i was in a rather large claw foot bathtub with four other guys. my soccer pal Carmelo was at least one of the other three and i'm pretty sure I recognized the other two from Vincent Massey as well. during the "concert" i felt almost compelled to dip below the water and wet my hair. i would come up all slick, then start to feel self-conscious as the interviewer tried to keep the discussion going. i tried my best to draw attention away from the the tiny little curls floating in the dirty water. i temporarily lost track of what Amy was doing but whatever it was, people really seemed to like it. after the show everyone came up to her and congratulated her and asked if she sang as well. most of those same people just shook my hand politely and assured me i as also a hit. i wasn't downright jealous of all the attention she was getting. maybe just a little surprised. but happy at the same time.

the golden touch

my little room is as beautiful as its ever been. amy`s got such a way. i left her a new shiny red desk in a pile of scattered jackets and furniture and she turned it into home; a multi-coloured laboratory lounge kind of home. but it`s mine and i love it. this was confirmed when i came to down from Cleinfeld`s and caught a glimpse of the room again. i almost knew i was going to find Pepe asleep on the chaise, but i  still got all giddy when i saw him. we had one of those special moments and i called in Amy to witness it and thought about Tigger at the same time. and i felt the best kind of tears stir just enough. and i realized that what i really love about this room is that it`s a window into the past. all our pasts. this is where time can slow down. maybe even bend in a couple of new directions.

quick, knock on Costa Rican wood

A simple business class flight has rekindled a full-blown love affair.

I'm not sure what it is about Costa Rica, but this place is pure magic. The people are so much warmer and more welcoming. The country is so much more lush and idealistic. And I really enjoyed Panama, so this isn't an unfair comparison. Truth is, there simply is no comparison.

The Los Flores Hotel was supposed to be a little out the way. But we walked out this morning and ran right into this amazing food market that ran for blocks in both directions. Two marimba players provided the Mario Brothers background music as the locals got their groceries done ahead of la Semana Santa. Then we drove just out of town to Barva - coffee country - on the way to its namesake Volcano. I never got the perfect little cup of coffee overlooking the mountain vista I had imagined in my mind, but we did stumble into a lively local breakfast spot. No one spoke English, but I pointed to the black bean rice dish in front of one particularly loud man at the other end of the counter and asked for two of the same. When it was all said and done, we wanted to pack the couple who ran the restaurant in our suitcases.

The road to the volcano was hellishly steep and paved until it wasn't. After getting just four minutes into the cratered trail, I was forced to abandon our inadequate little Toyota Yaris three kilometres from the ranger station. A couple from the capital who spoke some English ended up accompanying us the whole way after (intelligently) deciding against putting their 4X4 through the pain. We must have hiked almost three hours through some rather thin air to reach the peaceful little lagoon 2,900 metres above sea level. But just watching the clouds breathe from so close up made it somehow all worth it. 

We passed through Barva again on the way back. Except the quiet little town was morphing into an all out masquerade. One of the town's most notorious festivals was underway. Picture Halloween meets Church feast. Except there were rows of endless painted ceramic masks of everyone from Johhny Depp to Jim Carrey to Darth Maul to Itchy and Scratchy to local politicos and celebs I wouldn't be abe to identify. People dawning the ten-foot outfits in question were already dancing in the park square, to a marching band no less. I would not be out of place with my infamous giant Kermit the Frog head.

What were the odds we would have stumbled into this tiny little town on this exact date? Yeah, 1 in 365, smartass.

I always judge my vacations by how things either do or don't fall into place. When Amy and I arrived in Paris so many years ago, we missed Bastilles Day by a night and actually had to walk through the wreckage of what we could only assume was a fantastic party. Then we got our luggage and passports stolen while lying on the beach after an exhausting overnight drive to Nice.

Not this time, my friends. Not this time. Even the young girl singing off key to Nothing Else Matters at this moment sounds like sweet music to my ears.

the early birds get the last sunset

We were up at 4:30 this morning to catch the sunrise. The roosters had deceived us. Sunrise was actually an hour and a half later.

I accepted the short snooze and dreamt of sunrises. The real life one was just as pretty - and it included some banana and nutella tacos and the company of Cookie, the hotel's resident basset hound with the pink rhinestone collar. Should we ever actually follow through on all the big dream talk of moving here for good someday, we will open up a restaurant called Choco Loco and this will be the signature breakfast dish.

A full-on sun day would have been outight cancerous in today's heat. So we took a drive down the Inter Americana to Penonome in search of beach toys and Panama Hats. What we found was a bustling little town with lots of dollar stores but no paddle balls. I haven't figured out just how long the Chinese have been in this country, but there are a lot of decent-looking Asian/Panamanians walking the streets and serving killer chicken dishes with vegetables and peanuts by the highway. I had already committed to a $3 imitation hat when a sweet local told us where we might find the real deal - insisting that I reminded her of that guitar player from GnR, the band that had taught her most of her English. In Pintada we found only one simple shop with a tiny old woman. There were only a few models to choose from and she chose the same hat for Amy that first caught my eye. It looked like a Louis-Vitton and clocked in at $50 after some gentle haggling. Well worth the drive.

When we finally got back I gave Abdil the lottery ticket I had bought him and told him that should it be a winner, we would build our little beach Villa next to his and enjoy the life together. He let us take the lawn chairs down to the beach. We spent the better part of the slow sunset walking the beach collecting seashells and figuring out just how early we'd have to get up tomorrow to do the same before driving back to Panama to make the late-morning flight to Costa Rica.

dry run

Late last night, Amy and I took some Ativan. It was my idea - though I'm positive her doctor would have approved of her testing out the low dosage. If only to put her mind at ease. That's the entire point of having the sedative as a fail safe, right? You don't want to get panicky on the flight only to fear the pill's side effects. You will not have solved anything. She remained tentative but i finally talked her into it. So we both stuck the tiny green pill underneath our tongues. Five minutes and nothing. Half an hour and still nothing. Perhaps nothing was precisely the desired effect, she countered. I considered this but then suggested another, if only to see if it would make any difference. Amy wasn't down. So the willing guinea pig took another for the team. We were watching the Simpsons and I repeated that I wasn't feeling much at all. Next thing I knew, it was five in the morning and i was sleeping on the couch. Alone.

we (still) used to vacation

We sat in the sun, Amy and I and our matching Lonely Planets. Less than a week to go and we still have lots of days to fill between airports and major cities in Panama and Costa Rica. Booking our kind of vacations reminds me of how we used to book Kamikaze tours. Except Amy's not too keen on community shelter or sleeping in the 4X4 as a desperate (if not economical) last resort. But we do agree on the notion of driving in some kind of a straight line. Luckily for us there are no shortage of volcanoes, national parks, waterfalls, hot springs, beaches and other points of interest to choose from. Determining the order seems to be the toughest part. And what to leave out, of course. Can't play every town. Two weeks suddenly doesn't feel long enough and we haven't even booked a single thing.

a leap of faith

Another hospital visit. Another slow start/strong finish for my grandmother.

Tonight she kept telling me about how she's never one to ring for the nurse. She did today because she wasn't sure how to lift or lower the bed. (And even if she had been told in the last day or even the last hour, she wouldn't have remembered) When the nurse came, he basically showed her how to do it herself. Her lips pursed with a hint of indignation as she told me this. She was offended.

I just find it interesting how the nurses seem to forget that she's got mild Alzheimer's. So I showed her - even though I knew she'd forget. She must have repeated the same story five times after that. I tried my best to re-explain it every time.

And then I had this strange thought. I could literally come up with a different reaction every time she told the story. I could offer different explanations. I could be different people. I didn't, of course.

Instead, I took out the brush from her drawer by the bed and tried my best to puff up her hair. She laughed, Amy laughed too and everything seemed to get better from there. We showed her some old videos of our little nephew David dancing and then I got her and Amy to play cards. She ate some grapes and suddenly, her head wasn't so far far away.

And all was well - at least for that hour or so.