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.

Since the weekly volunteers arrive on Saturday, usually in time for a supper at our place and orientation, Sundays are left open for church, outings, and any spontaneous visiting that may occur. Nothing is ever really planned. Rather, it evolves as we go along. Take this past Sunday, for example. 

After church, Chiro invited our family and the four volunteers to come over for lunch. There’d been a bridal shower the day before and they had a bunch of leftover food to use up. Sure thing, I said, and I have some leftover salad in my fridge — I’ll run home and get it.

The salad transferred to a nicer bowl, I doctored it up with some more cherry tomatoes, and bunch of chopped boiled eggs, sunflower seeds, grated cheese, and craisins. I’d just bought a fresh pineapple the day before, so I snatched that up on my way out the door.

At Chiro’s, he was in the middle of re-cooking the leftover rice — his sister had tried to cook 14 pounds of rice in a large kettle and it’d turned out crunchy (as Chiro had warned her it would, he told me rather gleefully) — and making a pan of chicken with onions. They’d plunked a bag of dinner rolls and a dish of butter on the table for people to munch on while they waited. I chopped up the pineapple (it was disappointingly flavorless) and helped Lery wipe down the tables and set out the drinks. Lunch was served.

We lingered over the table in the cool air conditioning, talking about all sorts of things. For example, I learned that upon greeting their parents or elder relatives, children here, even grown ones, will say, Bendición (blessing), and the adult will respond, Dios le bendiga (God bless you). This call-and-response is a sign of respect. They do it when they greet each other and when they say good-bye, before bed and on the phone, too. A child who intentionally skips the blessing request is being disrespectful and rude and may, I’ve heard tell, have their phone confiscated.

My children (two of them, at least), in the meantime, had fallen asleep.

I’d been hoping to make sweet rolls that afternoon, so I begged a couple potatoes from Lery and set them to simmering while we talked. The potatoes cooked and mashed, we headed back to our house. 

Lery showed up soon after we got home. The volunteers were still at her house and the conversation had turned intense — politics — plus, she wanted a baking lesson. While I measured and mixed (and assembled a batch of granola on the side) she took notes and asked questions.

She took a turn kneading the dough, and then, while it rose, we sat in the hot kitchen, drinking water, and talking about life: marriage, work, relationships, etc.

The rolls shaped and in the pan, Lery headed home, and my husband and I made a quick run to the store. I’d promised Chiro a green smoothie experience and needed bananas, spinach, and canned peaches. I texted him a photo of the smoothie ingredients, and then, while the rolls baked, I ran outside to take some photos of the sunset.

I lost track of time, so the rolls got a little dark, oops. I glazed them and then texted a photo to Lery: You coming? Should I make coffee? 

Around eight, they showed up — their daughter, too — and we sat on the porch and visited. The mosquitoes came out, so we lit the citronela candle. My younger son drug some pots and pans out to the sidewalk for some late-night drumming (which we promptly shushed).

As Chiro and Lery were getting ready to leave, the volunteers showed up, so they plopped back down in their plastic chairs and settled in for round two. We got out the last two pans of sweet rolls, and the kids did a quick table clean-up and passed out cups of water. Crowded together on the twinkle-lit porch we told stories, joked, and argued over the origin of the word “gringo.” At one point — this was before the volunteers showed up, I think — Lery was seized with such a fit of laughter that she was rolling on the floor.

After several failed attempts at leaving, everyone made it into their cars. The older kids had put themselves to bed, and my younger son was asleep on the sofa. My husband and I washed up the last few dishes, showered, and, at eleven, finally crawled into bed. I was exhausted, but still buzzing from all the sugar and conversation. It took me a good while to fall asleep.

This same time, years previous: three things about writing, a tale, er, tail, splash, tempero.