Last night all of the kids (my four, plus my daughter’s friend, plus the two teenagers who are volunteering this week) went bowling, and for two hours, my husband and I ate chips (first cheesy chips and salsa and then regular potato chips) and watched Goliath, completely blissed out on the empty-house quiet.

As for Goliath, we’re both hooked. Have you seen it?

Another good show that’s all over the internets (so I’m sure you’ve seen it already and if you haven’t, you better) is Hannah Gadsby’s comedy special Nanette. The first thirty minutes or so I wasn’t too taken, but then — BAM — she started letting loose and I was entranced. Her words are powerful and profound. I want both of my older children to see it now.

We’ve gotten some incredible mileage out of these two books.

Educated is such an engrossing, well-written story — even-handed and gracious — about fanaticism and mental health. Weeks later, I’m still thinking about it.

The War Against All Puerto Ricans is so good that I bought a second copy to keep in the trailer for the volunteers to read (and they are). Our own copy is getting a solid workout — currently, both of my sons and my older daughter are reading it. Understanding the political history helps us to make sense of our surroundings, and it makes for some interesting conversations, too.

Ever since we’ve arrived, we’ve been trying to cut back on our plastic usage. Even though it’s safe to drink the tap water, it doesn’t taste very good, and everyone here buys bottled water. But I couldn’t stand doing that. Working in the sun all day, each person could easily breeze through 8-12 plastic drinking bottles — the waste would be (and was) insane!

So we did a bunch of research and then invested in under-the-sink water filters — one for the volunteer trailer and one for our house.

The volunteers make ice every night and chill pitchers of tap water in the fridge, and then, in the morning, they’re responsible for filling the drinking cooler with the chilled water and ice chunks.

We stocked the trailer with durable plastic cups (and real coffee mugs because coffee tastes best from a mug), plus masking tape and permanent markers to label the cups.

We’ve asked Nilda and Carmen to bring the volunteers’ meals in the cooking pots and serve out of them directly onto the plastic dishes we’ve provided (instead of pre-packaging the food in styrofoam take-out containers), and they agreeably complied. As a result, we’ve now successfully eliminated nearly all plastic waste at the jobsite, whoop!

At our house, we keep two big pitchers in the fridge, filling them from the tap as we go.

The system works like a dream — so much better than constantly refilling the brita pitcher — and the water tastes great to boot.

Ever since we’ve arrived, I’ve been begging my husband to fix the over-the-sink light in the kitchen. He never did, and so we limped along, washing dishes in the near dark. And then a few nights ago I had him wash up a bunch of dishes in the darkening evening light, and wouldn’t you know, within thirty minutes I had a lovely light over the sink.

I guess I should’ve had him do the evening dishes weeks ago.

Remember how when we first came here I complained about a scratchy throat? Well, I mentioned this to a couple Puerto Ricans, and they were like, Yeah, it’s the dust from the Sahara.

Um, excuse me? Dust from the what?

I was sure they were pulling my leg, but they didn’t bat an eye as they explained that millions of pounds of Saharan dust blow over to Puerto Rico each year. The hazy air, the fine grit of dust that’s constantly soiling tables and floors, is all desert sand, they said.

After they left, I looked it up and found out they were telling the truth. Weird, right?

The heat is getting to me. It’s not so bad during the day, but nighttimes are pretty awful. Since the house isn’t insulated, it bakes in the sun all day and then holds the heat at night. The bedrooms in the back of the house — and the master bedroom, especially — turn into ovens. Even with the door open and fans blowing, we can’t drop the temperature. Walking from the breezy front porch into our bedroom, the temperature goes up about ten degrees. We lay in bed, the fan trained on us, and it’s manageable, but dare to get up to pee and the sweating immediately starts.

As a result, the bedroom is untenantable except for sleeping. And even then, not really. The other night, my husband, unable to bear the thought of walking into our room, stayed up till the early morning hours watching movies, and a couple mornings back I woke up so hot that I was nearly in tears. It takes a toll on one’s body and mind, never truly getting a respite from the heat.

And yet, the heat and humidity is not nearly as bad as in Managua, and there I was pregnant and nursing, too. So everything’s relative. We’re fine.

When we first arrived, we noticed that the house and patio were edged with gravel-covered dirt. There was even a garden box full of soil, ready for planting. However, we didn’t have the time or energy to do any gardening. We didn’t even consider it, really.

But now, two-and-a-half months later, the weeds are waist high and I’m kind of kicking myself.

If I’d just plopped a couple plants in the ground — herbs, flowers, maybe a tomato plant or two — they’d be going berserk-o right now. Darn.

This same time, years previous: such a hoot, the quotidian (7.18.16), zucchini fritters, a tale of two children, all partied up, in the pits.

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (7.17.17), in which a pitt bull bites my butt, ouch, this new season, Saturday nights, roasted beet salad with cumin and mint, Jeni’s best ever vanilla ice cream.

Slowly but surely, the walls are going up!

Block laying is tedious work. Each block has to be placed just so, tapping (or pounding) to level it, measuring and counter-measuring.

It requires attention to detail and a good eye. And strength. It’s hard work wetting and stirring the mortar and lifting the blocks. I only worked for three hours that one morning, and by the time I was done I had blisters on both of my thumbs. My hat’s off to the workers putting in ten-hour days!

Now that MDS is having volunteers to Ponce rent a car from the airport, logistics are so much easier. Everyone — both us and the volunteer groups — can be more independent. Volunteers get themselves to church, to our house, to stores, to the airport all by themselves. And in the evenings, if they’re not too tired (ha), they can explore, too.

Last week we had a group of five volunteers from our church community back home.

This week, two of the men from the previous week stayed on, and two new ones arrived.

Often Chiro and Lery will invite everyone over for pinchos, and one evening last week we (my family, the MDS volunteers, and another couple from our church who were visiting for a couple days, scouting out the island for a potential cross-cultural trip for the university) met at their place to hear their Hurricane Story. I translated for the group. (Chiro accused me later of not being accurate … because I didn’t cry when he cried, the stinker!)

Part One: Wind and Sand
For roughly twelve hours, the sand battered houses and cars, stripping them of paint. Afterward, one half of a car would look fine, and the other half would look faded and torn up. The power went out about four hours after the storm started.

Part Two: The Eye
For a couple hours it was relatively calm. People stepped outside — the light was eerie and reddish — to assess the damage. They knew the second half of the storm was coming, and that it would be worse.

Part Three: Wind and Rain
During this part, there aren’t many photos — people were too scared to take pictures. This time the wind came from a different direction — whatever hadn’t broken the first time, now, weakened by the first twelve hours, snapped easily. In addition, there were dozens of mini-tornados. From their upstairs bathroom window, Chiro watched as one of the little twisters destroyed one of the enormous cranes at the dock.

But the actual storm was only the beginning. What followed were days of high-stress work: making meals, finding people, procuring gas and water and generators, handing out food boxes, problem-solving, taking people in, etc. All of it was intense, and on little sleep, too, but it’s when talking about not being able to communicate with their family that they tear up. That — the inability to communicate and the not-knowing about the safety and well-being of their loved ones — was the hardest part.

That evening with the volunteers, Lery showed us a video that her health department produced after the hurricane, detailing how the organization responded to the crisis. For Lery, working with her co-workers was both extremely challenging and empowering. They were prepared and they worked hard. It’s something to be proud of.

But back to our volunteers! And the house!

My older son works full-time. We’ve considered sending him to one of the other jobsites to give him a change of scenery, but then my husband realized that he’s come to depend on him too much, Sorry, kid, serves you right for working hard! And my older daughter usually puts in full days, too, though recently, under-the-weather with a cold and stomach bug (more appropriately called a “buggette,” since it was so minor), she took a couple days to be A Royal Layabout.

The younger two sometimes pop in to help (and my younger daughter was a surprisingly gifted block layer), but there’s not much for them to do right now.

The tasks — meticulous block laying and up high, on scaffolding — require more supervision, and my husband, his hands full enough already with managing the weekly volunteers, doesn’t have extra time for coaching (occasionally obstinate) children.

Next week we hope to finish the walls. Then, trusses!

This same time, years previous: roasted feta with honey, the quotidian (7.11.16), the quotidian (7.13.15), what my refrigerator told me, soft and chewy breadsticks, roasted cherry vanilla ice cream with dark chocolate.