A life less comfortable

I've been home alone for a little over a week now. Steve and Sam are in Cameroon with Joe and Meg. They are there to help with some issues that have arisen of late. I had a plan. I was going to repaint the entire annex part of the guest house on Monday through Wednesday. This included transforming Steve's tiny office into a tiny over-flow guest room. We are a small guest house but we are a busy one. Many times four bedrooms is just not sufficient. By the weekend we were going to be full and need that over-flow guest room. I peeled off old wallpaper and painted for hours over three days with the help of our guardian Gustave. We finished painting and moved furniture around and hung African art on the walls and by Wednesday late afternoon we were finished. I was tired but content with the work. Then I awoke on Thursday morning to the sound of water sloshing around outside my window. I discovered our Gabonese teammate Maman Celine outside trying to clear away standing...

Last night I walked into the living room (where Sam and Steve were watching Ultimate Survivor) just in time to see Bear Grylls' eyes light up as he cried out "tinder fungus!" He then crashed through the soggy forest floor, running towards a slender tree with a shelf-like mushroom growth jutting out of it. He pulled it off the tree and began to explain that Tinder Fungus is a type of fungus that holds a coal very well for a long period of time, and ignites easily. This was, Bear explained, an important discovery in early civilizations that enabled hunters to go farther from home without the fear of being without a fire. Wow, portable fire nestled within fungus. That Bear Grylls, always a fount of knowledge! Tinder Fungus is a natural way to transport a spark of fire covered with moss long distances. Bear, in fact, lit a bit of tinder and pushed it deep into the fungus then covered it with moss and put it in his ever present backpack. He took it out from time to ti...

A small concrete block building, two main rooms with a few smaller spaces made out of flimsy plywood walls and curtained doorways. Unadorned smooth concrete floors meet mismatched plastic chairs lined up in an L-shape along the wall. A rough plywood desk divides the patient area from the pharmacy area. I've been sitting in that small pharmacy area counting out pills for patients and learning to take blood pressure with the automatic cuff every morning this week. I sit under the watchful eyes of Mama Jeanine and Mama Perine. Mama Jeanine is a Bongolo taught nurse that has been running the clinic for years. I've known Mama Jeanine since we first moved to Libreville a little over two years ago but have just begun to help out at the clinic. What can I say about Mama Jeanine... she is a force to be reckoned with, she loves laughter and playing practical jokes, she is a leader, she works hard but believes in having fun along the way. She said to me just the other day, "w...

The rains pour forth once again here in Libreville. It is the first of the season. We are entering a nine month season of heat and humidity. The rains rip out of the clouds in a profusion of precipitous glory. I love the rain but find it's fierce companions of heat and sweltering humidity a daunting duo. I wake and shower and then face the day. Just walking down the street causes the sweat to flow freely and non-stop throughout the day and night. I am amazed that my hair didn't mildew during last year's rainy season as it stayed wet all the live long day and night. We are so happy to be living in the guest house residence that has a water tank in the back yard. The water company often cuts water to different neighborhoods at different times. We had water only during the hours of midnight to about 6 a.m. for months on end at our old place down the street. It was inconvenient to say the least. We now have water even when the water is cut due to the beloved tank in...

"Sometimes I say at writers' conferences that while many people think they want to write a book, what they really want is to have written a book. It's sort of like wanting to be thin without exercising or eating right. It's fun to hold in your hand a book you wrote, but good writing, like good farming and good bricklaying, takes real work." ~ Randy Alcorn Randy Alcorn is one of my favorite writers. When I was in my early twenties I read a novel called Deadline by Alcorn. I passed it along to my dad to read. Shortly after our big move to PA my mom and dad came up to have a vacation with us. Dad had just finished reading the book and we had the most amazing conversation as he and I traveled to the Pocono Mountains with baby Megan strapped in her car seat sleeping away the miles. We had to take two vehicles and somehow dad and I ended up with baby Megan in one car while Steve, my mom, and Joey were in the other. In life we have these golden moments that glimmer and s...

I have been thinking about Rouark, my knight in dull armor. He is no longer with me. I sold him. I sold him for twenty dollars and watched a man walk away with Rouark held awkwardly under his arm. Rouark is a 4' knight complete with a sword and a helmet visor that can be opened or shut. Rouark stood silently yet valiantly over my life from the time I was twelve to about six months ago. I got him from my beloved Uncle Bob. He got him in some shadowy mysterious way and gave him to me due to the fact that Rouark scared the crap out of my cousins. They would freak out at night when they saw Rouark standing guard. I have had re-occurring nightmares from early childhood on but Rouark never scared me. He was my knight. I took him to college with me. I had to go to a college I felt was beneath me. My dad had gone through two bouts of cancer my junior and senior years of high school. He spend seven weeks in a Cancer ICU ward at Baylor Hospital in Dallas, Tx battling for his life. Rouark sto...

We are putting the house on the market Friday. I'm so sad about it I've been driven to watch the Turner Movie Classic channel. They are playing a movie with Frank Senatra and Louie Armstrong as himself and good ole what's his name. It's a musical. I'll think of what's his name by the end of this blog. While talking with our realtor on the phone he asked why I sounded so down. I swallowed back tears and brightly chirped something about life and big changes, etc. I went downstairs to find Steve on the computer reading an e-mail from a pilot who sent a picture and wrote about his recent flight into Bongolo. Steve was pouring over the e-mail green with envy. He can't wait to fly those African skies. I swallowed back my tears and left him to his e-mail. Bing Crosby, that's his name! I heard he beat his kids in real life. That's so disturbing. But his voice, his velvet-like voice... one could crawl up inside of that man's crooning. It'...