Weekly Photo Challenge: New Life From Above

“The trick to forgetting the big picture is to look at everything close up.” ― Chuck Palahniuk

And, I might add….from above. Mama hen stepped off her nest to get a bite to eat. While she was gone, a chick hatched.

Life is all about perspective. The little chick could have thought this:

“The hens they all cackle, the roosters all beg, But I will not hatch, I will not hatch. For I hear all the talk of pollution and war As the people all shout and the airplane roar, So I’m staying in here where it’s safe and it’s warm, And I WILL NOT HATCH!”~ Shel Silverstein

Instead, the chick thought this:

“Ready for a new life” ― Sylvia Plath

Meanwhile I thought this:

“If you want a new life,  first give praise for having the old one!”
         ― Stephen Richards

My Husband: The Snake Whisperer

“When a woman teams up with a snake a moral storm threatens somewhere.”
― Stacy Schiff, Cleopatra: A Life

Marina shouted across the fence, “Ron, Ron ven aquí rápidamente! Hay una serpiente en mi cocina.” “A snake?” Ron shouted back. As usual, it was after dark on a Sunday night, and we lost our electricity.  I swear, the weekend electricity guys flip a switch every Sunday night leaving us in the dark for two hours. I picture them snickering and snoring in the Union Fenosa office.
Ron and I grabbed a couple of flashlights and squeezed through the barbed wire fence separating us from Marina’s house. Marina was standing on a plastic chair in her kitchen waving the only light she had…her cell phone. “Quick, help me trap the boa constrictor in the wall,” she ordered. “We’ll kill it tomorrow.” Stumbling around the dirt floor kitchen, we spotted some bricks and covered the top holes in the cement block wall. Trapped for the night! We lent Marina a flashlight and whispered, “Sweet dreams” (because their three grand babies were sleeping) and headed home shaking our heads wondering what the next morning would bring.
Early the next morning Marina shouted, ” Ron, Ron ven aqui.” With machete in hand, she was determined to capture and kill the giant boa sleeping in her kitchen wall. Now, we are not snake killers. If they are not poisonous, we trap them and set them free. Boas are beautiful and they eat rats, which is probably why it was in her kitchen wall. But, tell that to Marina, a protective grandmother. A moral storm was brewing.

With a mirror, flashlight, and a ladder, Ron spotted the boa near the top of the hole. He tried pouring warm water down the hole to flush out the boa, but it only aggravated the enormous snake and it retreated farther down. So, Ron chipped a small hole in the cement block, found his tail and started p-u-l-l-i-n-g.
Meanwhile, Adioska was screaming, Marina had her machete in her hand, and Don Jose was comforting his grand babies. This picture is priceless. You can just feel the fear!
But, Ron kept p-u-l-l-i-n-g. That was one strong boa!
Success! Isn’t it a beauty! Marina rushed forward with her machete. “No, Marina,” I explained. “We’re not going to kill it. We’ll put it in a sack and take it far, far, away from your house.”
Marina wasn’t sure. “You’ll take it far away? she whimpered. “Certainly,” we promised. Meanwhile the boa was getting restless. It tried to wrap around Ron’s arm and he lost his grip on the boa’s head. It only bit him once. Jose ran forward with a big sack, and Ron dropped it comfortably into its temporary home.
I have no fear of losing my life – if I have to save a koala or a crocodile or a kangaroo or a snake, mate, I will save it. Steve Irwin
“Stephen, do you want to see the boa?” Ron said reassuringly. But, Stephen ran for his life in the opposite direction. “Dustin, do you want to see the boa?”  Dustin took a few tentative steps toward the sack. He peeked in and soon wanted to touch it. Maybe a new snake whisperer is born.

Ron took the wiggling sack to the new airport. Just as he set the sack on the ground to release the boa, a big, fat rat ran across the path. “Perfect,” Ron told the boa. It looks like it’s lunch time.

Have you seen the movie, Snakes on a Plane? Let’s keep our fingers crossed that we never hear the quote below. LOL

From the movie, “Snakes on a Plane” : Neville Flynn: [TV edit] Enough is enough! I have had it with these monkey fighting snakes on this Monday through Friday plane!

Gargantious Gar

In the evening, as the brutal sun was sinking into the sweet sea for its nightly nap , a freshwater giant was lurking in the shallow waters of Lake Cocibolca. These gargantious alligator gar have few known predators, mainly because the prehistoric relatives of the megafish have tooth-filled mouths and heavily scaled bodies.

Yet, one unfortunate menacing-looking behemoth couldn’t contend with Julio and his missile-like aim.
With a swiftly flying rock, he pounded the alligator gar into deadly submission. This toothy giant didn’t have a chance.
This gargantious gar may look fierce, but attacks against people are unknown. Tell that to little 8 mo. old Braydon, whose mother just finished bathing him in the lake.
Julio chopped up the gar with his machete throwing twinkly flying sparks….seriously! Then, the big hunks of meat were distributed among the neighborhood. Some say that gar is a tasty treat, others say that gar is bony and tough. The only fact I know about gar is that the eggs are poisonous to humans if ingested.

Stay tuned for my gar recipe. In the meantime, I think I’m taking a break from swimming in the shallow waters of our sweet sea.

 

 

Three Little Kittens

Last July, we had a rat problem in the garden. We didn’t want to use poison because we have ten free-range chickens, plus all the neighbors chickens and other critters come to our gringo house to graze.  Instead, we contacted a friend who lives in Granada to see about getting a cat.

We consider ourselves to be dog people, and we weren’t too familiar with the ways of cats. We only wanted one cat, but things didn’t work out that way. “Will you take two kittens?” Carol asked. “They are brother and sister. Poor babies were thrown in the Granada dump,” she pleaded. I relented. What’s one more kitten?

A few days later, the foster mom of our two kittens called. “I just got another kitten about the same age as the brother and sister,” she said. “They love one another. This little kitten was thrown over a wall in Granada and left to die,” she pleaded. I relented again. What’s one more kitten?

When the kittens were old enough to be spayed and neutered, our foster-mother took them to a free clinic in Granada operated by Donna Tabor. See her blog here with heartwarming stories.

Last September, we became full-fledged cat people. Our cats have adjusted to life on Ometepe Island. There is never a dull moment with Black Jack, Queenie, and Ocho.

Bringing the kittens home

Naptime

Ocho curls up in my pottery shards

Always sucking on one another

Curious kittens inspect the construction site

Time to relax

Chickens? Oh boy!

Ocho loves to fish

Queenie is the queen of the finca

Sleeping between our laptops

Their first ferry ride

 

Weekly Photo Challenge: Hora de Almorzar

The weekly photo challenge is all about lunchtime. Check out the weekly photo challenge HERE. All of the photos, except the vegetable truck, were taken with my new-to-me iPhone 3Gs. It’s lunchtime on Ometepe Island, Nicaragua! Everyone helps to prepare lunch, the largest meal of the day for a Nicaraguan family.

The vegetable truck comes to our door every Friday. We choose the freshest veggies, all homegrown on the island.

Don Jose, our 78 year young neighbor, hacks away at our fallen tree with his machete. Our neighbors need firewood to prepare lunch.
Stephen gathers our sweet mangoes, while his grandfather cuts firewood. The mangoes will make a tasty dessert.
Meanwhile, Dustin snacks on a juicy jicote, similar to a plum. ( I had to retouch this photo. Dustin wasn’t wearing any underwear or pants. jeje)

Our chickens wait in line to lay eggs under the pollo grill. We never lack fresh eggs around the finca.
Rafaela isn’t neglected either. She’s neighing for a fresh carrot from the vegetable truck.
Black Jack, one of our three rescue kittens, inspects our produce. “Anything good to eat here?”
The avocados will have to wait for tomorrow’s lunch. They aren’t quite ripe. But, the tangerines are ready!
Don Jose stokes the fire. Lunch is almost ready. “Hora de amorzar?” the kids ask.
Lunch is almost ready. A big pot of gallo pinto, a fresh egg omelet, and lots of handpicked fruit. Everyone helps prepare lunch in Nicaragua. It’s my favorite time of the day, the hora de almorzar.

 

Phoneography Challenge: Where’s the Wi-fi?

The timing was perfect for this phoneography challenge because I just brought back a new-to-me iPhone 3s from the states. Since I had uploaded the Instagram app, I was on a search through our tiny neighborhood for a strong wi-fi connection. Our internet is painfully slow at our house.

First, I stopped and asked some neighborhood kids playing in the sand on our beach. “Donde esta wi-fi?” They just looked at me with puzzled, dirty faces.
The whistling boy on his bicycle was waiting for the fisherman to return. “Donde esta wi-fi?” He thought I wanted to learn how to whistle.
The kids were playing soccer at Puesta del Sol. “Donde esta wi-fi?” “Aqui! ” they all shouted across the soccer net. But the internet café wasn’t open until 6 pm.
Perhaps if I get more minutes on my phone, I can use my 3G to upload my photos. So, I ambled down the sandy path to our local pulperia. (tiny grocery store)
Oh no! It’s never closed! Where is Carla?
Carla’s mother came out to greet me, but she didn’t have a clue how to sell me minutes for my phone. She thought her photo was feo (ugly), but I love this beautiful, hard-working woman.
I turned around and headed home. Maybe my internet will be strong enough to post my photos taken with my iPhone.
Uh-oh! Marvin is welding our casita roof. I’ll have to wait until he is finished because our electricity fluctuates too much when he uses the welder.
So, I guess I’ll rake mangoes until the internet café opens. It’s a beautiful day in our tiny neighborhood. A great day to practice taking photos with my new-to-me iPhone.

 

We’ve Come a Long Way, Baby!

We spent the past week painting three rooms in our house. It’s not an easy task remodeling or building anything in Nicaragua. The environment is harsh, termites ravage wood, everything is done by hand, and supplies are limited. But, we’ve come a long way in the two and a half years since we’ve lived here permanently.

Our couch is still in Marvin’s workshop. When it arrives, I’ll hone my upholstery skills. Then, I’ve designed a glass and iron coffee table for Marvin to make. The kitchen is slowly coming together. I’m designing kitchen cabinet doors that are punched tin, allowing air to circulate. Ron made me a sewing table. My library books are waiting to be delivered to several schools next week. Looks like I’m going to be very busy, but that’s the way I like it.

Most of our living is done outside, so we have a large wrap around porch for our hammocks and rocking chairs.

Before Construction

Our pink living room.

My pink den and workroom.  The pink kitchen. YUCK!

Our House Through the Years

2003-2004 when we rented our little beach shack for a year.  2009 when we bought the beach shack. Renters had painted it Barbie doll pink, inside and out. Our house today. Whew! It tires me just looking at all the work we’ve done. I think it’s time for a mini-vacation. So, we’re off to the beach for a few days. See you soon.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Surprise!

We are treated to surprises daily on Ometepe Island, Nicaragua. Whether the astonishing events are big or small, beautiful or ugly, dangerous or comical, we thrive on these delightful and sometimes bizarre moments. For living in the “land of the not quite right”, everyday is wrapped in a caught-off-balance, amazing moment.

1. BIG SURPRISES

We have an active volcano in our backyard. Imagine our surprise when she blew her top!

There she blows!

Then there was the day an island the size of a football field floated past our house…FULL of SNAKES!  El Gamolote-The Floating Island

Ron is tiny dot in the kayak.

2. ANIMAL SURPRISES

This poor little screech owl made a surprise visit one night. He accidentally hit our ceiling fan.  Jungle Law

A dazed and confused Screech owl

Last week, our local fisherman caught a Tarpon in his dugout canoe! Imagine the surprise when he strapped it on his bicycle and led it into town to sell. A Big Fish Story: How to Get a Tarpon to Town

How do you get a Tarpon to market? On a bicycle, of course!

You never know what surprises hide behind the tools in the bodega.

Ribbit! Croak! Surprise!

3. People Surprises

During the dry season, farmers become traveling salesmen. One never knows what the traveling salesmen will drag to our doors. Traveling Salesmen

The mattress man salesman

The pots and pans salesman rattles though the sand beyond our house.

Bang, bang, rattle, rattle!

4. DANGEROUS! DO NOT DRINK SURPRISES

Everything in Nicaragua is sold in plastic bags. One day, we left our workers a cooler full of juice and an ice bag to keep everything cool. When we returned to the house, the workers had left for the day, but we noticed the corner chewed off the ice pack. Not able to read English, they thought it was juice and tried to drink it!

Danger! Do not drink!

Then there was the time we bought paint thinner. The hardware store sells it in plastic water containers. I didn’t label it and sat it beside the workers’ identical water jugs. Oops! Jose took a big swig of it, but fortunately spit it out! After that, I was careful to label the jugs in Spanish for our workers.

Peligroso! No beber! Cener!

5. THE MOST PLEASANT SURPRISE

This morning I awoke to pictures of snow posted by my stateside friends on Facebook. But, we awoke to a layer of purple petals on the ground from our blossoming Pera tree. A very pleasant Christmas surprise.

Happy holidays from our Pera tree!

Wishing all of you happy holidays full of miraculous surprises!

A Big Fish Story: How to get a Tarpon into Town

“Fish,” the old man said. “Fish, you are going to have to die anyway. Do you have to kill me, too?” ~ Ernest Hemingway, The Old Man and the Sea

In the wee hours of the morning, the fishermen row their dug out canoes into the sweet sea, where the waters are deep and the fish are plentiful. “Maybe today will be my lucky day,” they pray silently.

This morning, Julio urgently called to us. “Run to the beach! The fisherman caught a gigantic fish in his net.” “Holy mackerel!” I shouted. “No,” responded Ron. “It’s a Tarpon.”

“A Tarpon?” I questioned, for I knew very little about Tarpon and especially Tarpon in Lake Cocibolca. The four-foot Megalops, cushioned between the narrow ribs of the dugout canoe, shimmered like the early morning sunbeams beams dancing on the gently rolling waves of our sweet sea. Its enormous eye stared as transparently as the cloudless dawn, while its adipose eyelid glazed over like a frosted donut, signifying that the fight was over. Tarpon generally weigh 80-280 pounds. “How do we get it out of the boat?” they all wondered. “More importantly,” asked the fisherman, “how do I get it into town to sell it?”

“Look at the mouth on that fish!” Julio demonstrated. Its mouth was as broad as the proposed Nicaraguan Canal, with a prominent lower jaw that jutted out farther than its face, sort of like our Moyogalpa dock. “It must be able to eat a lot of smaller fish with a mouth that size,” I said. The fisherman told us that the Tarpon are night hunters and they swallow their prey whole.

The fisherman wheeled his bicycle through the deep volcanic sand and docked it close to the canoe.

The fisherman strapped the strong, handmade paddles to his bicycle to brace the Megalops for the long ride into town.

Heaving and hefting, they lifted the monstrous, slippery Tarpon onto the paddles. It took several attempts because the fish was as slippery as our neighbor’s sweat beaded forehead after tending to her daily cooking fires.

Then, It was tightly bound to the bicycle, leaving no room for the fisherman to ride, only to push his prize into town.

“We need to carefully balance this monster,” the fisherman warned. Meanwhile, his son  dug out his prize..the eyeball!

Pushing it through the deep and unwieldy sand, they slowly make their way to the hard-packed road.

“Steady, steady,” warned the fisherman.

To market, to market to sell a fat fish..jiggety jigging along the sandy path.

Look at the size of those scales! These scales will make a beautiful pair of earrings.

This fish story has a very happy ending. The fisherman received 5,000 cordobas for the Tarpon, about two months’ wages. His son brought us a huge hunk of Tarpon for Ron’s help. Although they are bony fish and their meat is usually not eaten, we decided to try it anyway. Now, I understand why these magnificent fish are not commercially valuable as food fish, but our three kittens and our neighbor’s dog feasted until their bellies bloated.

I love a happy ending!

Weekly Photo Challenge: Delicate

If we are forced, at every hour, to watch or listen to horrible events, this constant stream of ghastly impressions will deprive even the most delicate among us of all respect for humanity. ~ Marcus Tullio Cicero
( ancient Roman lawyer, statesman, orator 106 BC-43-BC)

Life is delicate. I was reminded of this when 20 children were senselessly slaughtered in their classrooms, when I watched CNN for two days, horrified and shocked at man’s inhumanity to man.

Delicate new life on the finca

Life is delicate. I was reminded of this when a new born filly was delivered on our neighbor’s finca Saturday morning, wobbling on her long, unsteady legs, while my kitten, Queenie, watched in fascination.

Rafiella and her newborn

Life is delicate. I was reminded of this when the newborn filly suckled, and when Rafiella gently licked her fuzzy foal to clean off the afterbirth.

Marina and her grandson, Dustin

Life is delicate. I was reminded of this when Marina tenderly bathed her grandson, Dustin, while he watched the newborn filly learning to walk on long, spindly legs.

Don’t fall!

Life is delicate. I was reminded of this when Marina warned Dustin, “Don’t fall. Be careful.” Life is a delicate balance… a wobbly first step on long spindly legs…a desire to spread your wings and fly without fear, without reservations…leaping into the unknown, for that is what life IS…a leap of strong faith in the unforeseen future.

Everything you see exists together in a delicate balance. As king, you need to understand that balance and respect all the creatures, from the crawling ant, to the leaping antelope -Mufasa ~ Lion King quote

Hug your children today..tell them you love them.

…written in loving remembrance of the delicate lives lost.

The Sacrament of Confirmation

At Alba Ligia’s confirmation, touch became the language of communication. Mothers lovingly knotted their sons’ new ties, while fathers gently patted their children’s backs in encouragement and pride. Parents combed, fluffed, and plastered gel into unruly hair. Hands held smaller hands and led them to the entrance of the church to await the Bishop.

Once a year, the Bishop arrives from Granada to confirm all of the faithful teenagers on Ometepe Island. This year, three towns and hundreds of teenagers prepared for their confirmations. Alba Ligia’s family arrived at the church in Urbaite on the back of a pick-up truck dressed in all their finest. All the young girls wore panty hose for the first, and hopefully last time. I wondered where they even bought panty hose on the island.

After much anticipation, the Bishop finally arrived. We filed into the highly decorated church festooned with palm leaves and smokey incense. Since Ron and I were Alba Ligia’s sponsors and Godparents, we were hoping for a good seat. However, by the time the line finally cleared, all the plastic chairs were taken and we ended up standing through a long, exceptionally hot and crowded service.

After what seemed like several hours of kneeling, and watching young acolytes wipe sweat from the Bishop’s forehead and redirect the fan to his sweat drenched face, it was time for the confirmation to begin. Sponsors lined up behind their teenage charges and we slowly shuffled to the front of the church where the Bishop individually blessed each confirmed student. Alba knelt before the Bishop, Ron and I laid our hands on her shoulder, and she was anointed with chrism, an aromatic oil that has been consecrated by the Bishop. “Be sealed with the gift of the Holy Spirit,” the Bishop chanted.

An hour later, after pictures with the Bishop, and a procession of gift filled baskets of fruit and toilet paper for the visiting dignitary, it was time to celebrate the confirmation in each family’s home. I was more excited about finding a bottle of water because it had been a long, hot day in a crowded church filled with rituals and rites I knew nothing about. I’m just grateful I didn’t have to wear panty hose.

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A Piñata Kinda Day

Sayid turned one year old in October. In honor of his first birthday, we were invited to a modest celebration, which included his initiation into the world of piñatas. His mother made a small orange carrot piñata. But, when she showed it to him the morning of his first birthday, he burst into tears and wailed like a pig going to slaughter.

I can understand his fear because according to the Catholic interpretation of the piñata, it symbolizes man’s struggle against temptation. The traditional piñata has seven points, which represent the seven deadly sins. To me, it resembles Sputnik, whirling around in space forever reminding us of our greed, sloth, pride, envy, gluttony, lust, and anger. No wonder the Nicaraguans named the famous land grab of the Sandinistas  “La Piñata”. After losing the 1990 election, the Sandinistas frantically confiscated property and government funds sharing their bounty among themselves.

With preparations for the fiesta underway, balloons “chimbombas” inflated like the rising cost of frioles, cooks flipped tortillas like IHOP professionals, and a political rally down the street seduced party goers with ear-piercing music and fireworks minus the sparkling fire. But, they soon returned when they discovered there was no piñata. For the piñata is the life of the party… the soul hidden among clusters of candy… seducing and reminding good Catholics everywhere to heed temptations that could lead to a life of misery.

Adults with sharp machetes whittled sticks of various sizes for the fiesta clad participants. When it was time to begin the celebration, Sayid swung his miniature stick at the swaying piñata with glee and determination. Older children, blindfolded to represent their faith, wiggled their hips to the ear thumping music, while adults tuned them in circles several times to represent the disorientation that temptation creates.

Whacking the piñata over and over, symbolically portrays the struggle against temptations and evils. When the piñata finally broke, the forlorn look on the children’s faces said it all. Where was the prize, the treats that represented keeping the faith? Ron and Francisco frantically searched through the shredded piñata and discovered the candy tightly wrapped in the head of the carrot. A few more strong whacks, and the candy showered the faithful children. The day was saved!

Some say that the piñata has lost its religious significance, but I don’t agree considering how many birthday parties I’ve attended in Nicaragua. Birthday parties ooze religious significance. After the broken piñata, the mountains of food, and the exceptionally long birthday song over Sayid’s first chocolate chip cake, I asked Francisco why the gifts were not opened in front of the guests. He said without a thought,  “It is a sin.” “I don’t understand why it is a sin,” I questioned. His response was, “We believe in the act of giving regardless of how small the gift. We would never embarrass anyone who offers something small, for all gifts, regardless of size, are gifts from God.” Now, that’s what I call a piñata kinda day!

A Parade of Adjectives

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   The Independence Day
Parade of Adjectives

numerous          young             passionate          proud
thundering         melodic           raspy                   loud
sparkling            metallic           curved                round
orange               black               red                     brown
macho               gay                  feminine             straight
two                    four                 six                       eight
lively                  eager              delightful              mute
wide-eyed         handsome       adorable              cute

Great Expectations

 

 

“There are two ways to be happy: improve your reality, or lower your expectations”
―Jodi Picoult, Nineteen Minutes

Yesterday, a friend sent me a link to this article: Migration in the Americas. The first comment asked about the cost of living in Nicaragua, so I responded with information and a link to my blog. Throughout the day, I watched as the hits to my blog steadily climbed. By the end of the day, I had received more than 3,700 hits. Why? Is it because people are desperate to fulfill dreams of sipping margaritas under gently swaying palm trees, while watching the ocean waves lap at the doors of their tiki huts? Is it because of frustration and economic despair that life has so rudely thrust in their paths?

Comments ranged from curious to hopeful, and on the other end of the spectrum, from hateful to distorted with many bitter political viewpoints. Are we all doomed because we dream of a better life with great expectations? Are we fearful of improving our reality or are we expecting too much out of life?

We moved to Nicaragua without too many expectations, for I have learned that great expectations lead to great disappointments. Life has not been easy here. We knew better than to expect an idyllic lifestyle surrounded by margaritas with those cute little umbrellas poked into frosty glasses. Instead, we learned to take one day at a time, and improve our reality without playing the blame game.

I am not a victim of my circumstances. I consciously chose a simple, culturally immersed lifestyle and deal with the challenges it presents every moment of every day. As a result, I’m happy and fulfilled because I chose to be realistic and live without great expectations. Not that I lowered my expectations..I don’t agree with that part at all. I simply don’t have expectations. For me, life is easier without them.

Life in Nicaragua can be described with the Big Brother motto, “Expect the Unexpected.” After building a house in the worst flood in 60 years, encountering daily power and water outages, discovering that I have a severe allergic reaction to ant bites, a frustratingly slow internet, and watching my close friends commit suicide out of hopelessness and despair…I am still here. Why? Because this is….my life…one day at a time.

 

 

 

 

Confessions of a Sentimental Hoarder

 

 

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“There is no greater sin than desire, No greater curse than discontent, No greater misfortune than wanting something for oneself. Therefore he who knows that enough is enough will always have enough.” – Lao Tzu

I am a sentimental hoarder. Our house in the states is packed with my grandma’s china, grandpa’s oil paintings, my great grandma’s quilts, and ‘things’ passed down throughout generations. In addition, I saved all my travel mementos such as Japanese Saki cups, Brazilian hammocks,  Portuguese dolls, Moroccan rugs, German cuckoo clocks, and Peruvian Alpaca sweaters. We never bought new furniture; instead, we roamed the aisles of the Goodwill stores in search of cheap chic. Before we moved to Ometepe Island, the only new piece of furniture we ever bought in our 36 years of marriage was a big overstuffed couch, which our new puppy shredded the first night we ‘trusted’ her out of her sleeping crate.

The dilemma, of which I have no answer, is what do I do with a lifetime of sentimental possessions? They are an anchor in my life, which I need to alter, or at least start thinking of altering. We had yard sales and culled most of our unsentimental possessions, like hundreds of Tupperware containers, wobbly old furniture, and an assortment of holiday decorations. I made a website and tried to sell my collections of tins, pottery, and assorted knickknacks. Then, the recession hit and the competition was outrageous. I refused to sell my things dirt cheap.

That left us with a three-story house, all of my sentimental possessions stored in every closet and nook available, and trusted friends living in our house rent free. It has been two years now and it’s time to decide what to do with our house and my sentimental hoard. I honestly don’t miss any of my possessions from my earlier life. But, it wears me out just thinking about how to sell everything, including the house. And should we sell out?

There are some advantages to keeping our house. I can store our collections for free. We can buy things on Amazon, have them delivered to our house, and anyone coming to Ometepe can bring them to us. We still have a U.S. mailing address enabling us to keep our stateside credit card. Our friends open our important mail and tell us if something is amiss. Last week, we received a notice from the IRS that we owe more taxes for our 2010 year. We were expecting it because we forgot to include a Schedule D form for our investments. With a little creative ingenuity, they took photos of the forms, emailed them to us, and we printed them. Then, we corrected our errors and met a friend on the island, who is returning to the states and will mail our corrections for us.

Most importantly, our house in the states means security. Should the volcano or political turmoil erupt, or serious health issues arise, which would require a quick exit from Nicaragua, we have a mortgage-free place to live. Our son still has all of his stuff stored in our house, too. He inherited our wanderlust, never settling down in one spot. I tell him, “Someday, when we are gone, this all will be yours…BAAAAAH,” I repeat with an evil laugh. At least his hoarding tendencies are mostly digital. He has thousands of digital movies, books, photos, and music. Too bad I wasn’t born into the digital age. It would have eased my anxiety and stress about collecting sentimental stuff.

I am content and very happy living in Nicaragua with much less. Possessions have never defined who I am, only where I came from. They are shards of memories left behind…tangible pieces of my heritage and other world cultures. I’m beginning to believe that once a sentimental hoarder, always a sentimental hoarder.  Now, I look around my house in Nicaragua and the truth is everywhere…in the hundreds of Pre-Columbian pottery shards piled on shelves…in my collections of Nicaraguan art and sculptures….in my handmade furniture…my collections of maps and guide books…it’s everywhere. Marina sums it up well, ” You have so many chanches ( I think it’s a word for knickknacks), but you’re not pinche” (cheap). Coming from my closest neighbor, that’s a huge complement.