Portland Calling

                

       “I’ll miss you, cowardly American, and how you are so afraid of insects, yet decided to move into the middle of a tropical jungle.”

        “Good-bye, goofy-looking, wandering man, may your diligent patrol lead you in circles forever.”

       “And you, Edwardo, you big, crazy, bastard, I’ll miss you wandering around in your underwear, and barging your way into my house! Oh, I think I’ll miss you the most!  Who is going to inspect my toilet, and tear open my food with their gross teeth?  I’ll miss that sweet, shark-like twinkle in your dead eyes when you reach out for my junk.” (I’d kiss you on the cheek, but you’ve got a little something there.  Not sure what it is)

                                      *  *  *  *

      

       Yes, I’ve made the decision to leave this quaint little town in Panama and go back to Portland, Oregon, USA.  The constant eighty-degree weather, relaxing rain, and vibrant rainbows here in Boquete are no match for the dreary, wet, cold winters of The Pacific Northwest.

       I will miss the way that trash lines the streets of this ol’ Boquete. It gives me something to look at while I walk with my head down, trying to keep my hat on, and the dust out of my eyes.

 

I will miss seeing the pile of beer bottles and rusting cans outside the club, “Taboo”, which is directly across the street from the recycling center.  

       I will miss standing on the many bridges that cross the streams which flow into the Caldera river. For,

they carry the human waste, plastic bottles, and grocery bags, which give that ‘boring bit of nature’ a little extra sparkle.

I’ll miss “Gringo   Bingo”, the game played by local merchants, involving the psychic ability to guess which foreigners have the most money, and how to separate it from them.  It looks like a hoot for the Panamanians, and after all, isn’t that all that matters?

       I’ll also miss the ubiquitous snotty, self-righteous, entitled, puffy, pale, Americans, who sit around bitching about the centuries-old traditions held by the local natives, and how “these people” are so ignorant.  I’ll miss that kind of give and take; Gringos giving the Panamanians shit, and the Panamanians taking it.  (Anyone for a quick game of Bingo?) 

       I will miss the constant singing of birds, sung by the myriad species calling from the surrounding exotic trees.  But, once I hear the constant chirping, beeping, and screeching of car alarms back in The States, that memory will fade too.

      

          Yes, all these are things that I will miss.

But there are things that I do miss now, like my family, and friends.  Things like; health insurance, hot water, going to the movies, Taco Bell, and washing machines – these things I miss now.

But the thing I miss the most is being able to have a meaningful conversation with someone – someone who understands what I am saying – someone who doesn’t lick her own butt while I’m talking to her. (Though there are gringos who would pay good money for those things)

I have had my adventure here, and I will have others in the years that follow.  But(t) first, there is spelunking to be done.  I should get a colonoscopy, and I sure as hell don’t want it to be done by someone who won’t understand my trepidation, or that licks their own ass.

 Because in the end ...

DP

Chairman of the Bored

“Aren’t you going to get bored?” my brother said.

I chuckled, in an all-knowing superior way.  It was the same snide chuckle that Thomas Andrews gave before he proclaimed,

“Trust me, gentlemen.  My design makes The Titanic pretty much unsinkable!”

Of course Andrews’ next recorded words were,

“Shit!” and then later, “Trust me, gentlemen.  I am a woman and/or children!”

I suppose the very fact that I’m sitting here composing a blog entry about being bored says it all.  I mean, how much excrement, er - I mean, excitement can one fellow handle in a 24 hour period?

First, I had to wake up, which takes a few seconds (at least).  Then I walk around making coffee, and giving Betty her pill, and looking at the dishes in the sink.  By then I’ve hit my stride, and I’m “in the zone”.  This eleven minutes is the most productive period of my day. 

Next, the coffee maker completes its brewing cycle (its most productive time of the day as well).  I scan the kitchen for a clean, or fairly clean coffee cup.  By now I am starting to get the three o’clock

drowsiness that tends to set in.  The clock on the wall says it is really about 7:05 AM, but in hamster years it has got to be around 3:00 in the afternoon.

Now, armed with a giant cup of coffee, I turn on my internet radio station, wait to hear the music, then push the button on top of my Bluetooth speaker - and wait for the music to come out of it.  Exhausted, I fall into my desk chair, and check my email.  "Skunked again."

This is where my day gets crazy.  I log in to Facebook, and the fireworks begin.  I usually (though not always) have some little comment or notification waiting for me.  Usually, it is a comment on a friend’s post from somebody I don’t know and probably never will. 

At this point I scroll through the posts of my friends, and friends of friends, and random posts from some political group that I could care less about.  I make witty comments on anything that looks like it might get me a response back.

 I figured it out once – if I want to get one or two responses back – I have to make 438 comments, post 16 pictures, and one political message from some group I could care less about.  That is way too much work, so I make a couple of cynical comments and take what I can get.

By this time, it is 7:30…in the morning, and I’m ready to refill my coffee.  It is also the end of my scheduled activities for the day. 

Now, I’m not saying that I spend the rest of the day reading on the porch, or binge watching T.V. series that I have no interest in (other than they produce a flickering image I can stare at).  No, I walk Betty (the wonder dog) every day…most, every day.  This occurs after our first nap.  A man has to regenerate!  Then, I spend the rest of the day watching Netflix.

Oh, I know some of you may be thinking,

“Wow, this guy is living the dream!”

But I assure you, it is not all beautiful weather, loafing, and tequila.

Ahh, who am I kidding?  Of course it is.

But, I still get bored sometimes.  So, my brother was right. 

“Oh, Look! Titanic is on Netflix!  That’ll kill three hours”.  Yawn.

DP

Carmen Karma Chameleon

       Sometimes, things kind of sneak up on you.  I’m not talking about the occasional scorpion, or giant, hairy spider, or la cucaracha.  I’m talking about something much slower – age. 

       This morning I was doing some writing and listening to Jimmy Buffett sing a song called “Holiday”.  I got up to refill my coffee, and on the way back to the computer, I looked down at Betty (the wonder dog), who lay on the cool, tile floor watching me pass.  From out of nowhere I started doing what can only be described as an old person dance. 

       Holding my cup of coffee in one hand, and the other arm extended, palm out, my rounded shoulders began to ‘roll’ to and fro.  Then, before I could stop them, my feet began to shuffle in a stiff rumba pattern.  I moved forward and back like Ricky Ricardo (he’s dead, by the way) on Quaaludes.  My bare feet shuffled like George Burns proving that he could still do the ‘soft shoe’ at ninety-eight years old. He too is dead, by the way.

       Betty looked at me with the same look on her little face that I must have had on my little face when my mother did the old person’s dance in front of me.  Was it embarrassment?  Can dog’s look, or even be, embarrassed?  Or was it pity?  It didn’t matter, not in that moment.  As if possessed, I did a slow spin, and smiled all the wider. While the Congo drums played, I did the old person’s dance, while my little dog stared at my feet with…was that envy?

       In the end, I am grateful to be alive long enough to do the old person’s dance, and I hope to be around long enough to embarrass my own kids (more than I already have), and maybe a grand kid or two.  Life is good.  Life is good. 

DP