It has actually stopped raining, for the first time in over a week. Folks are saying this is the wettest October in a decade. This is apparently a pattern for us, as our first winter in Alaska was, according to just about everyone, the worst in a quarter of a century. And our first winter in Japan, also a record-breaker. We kind of like it this way, as it makes each successive, less extreme year seem mild and manageable. But in the mean time, we are growing a bit weary of being permanently damp. And of watching things mold before our very eyes. I looked up this morning while lying in bed and noticed the slender wooden slats that spread the top of the mosquito net were a lovely mottled shade of green….and Pat went to put on a brown leather belt he'd not worn for a week or two, only to find it now resembles green velvet. I even detected a spray of delicate greenish dots across one of my bras—one I wear and wash frequently. Yes, we are ready for the sun to return.

Much of our time recently has been spent on the quest for jeep parts. Although there are hundreds of these distinctive vehicles rumbling about the country, certain parts are not easy to come by, at least in our case, as it seems the engine is not the original but a replacement of an unspecified make. The mechanic is almost certain it came from a Toyota Land Cruiser pickup truck of roughly the same age, but this vague information was not helpful as we spent an entire day in Managua, running from shop to shop in search of specific bits and pieces. Just before dark, we managed to locate the correct leaf springs, and the suggestion that as the particular engine parts we were looking for may not actually exist, we could easily have them manufactured, and this is what we will do. We also swung by PriceSmart, the local Costco, for tires. Paid about what we would have at home, but figured it was worth it for the quality. Now everyone who sees the tires, neatly stacked over at Edwin's, comments on their beauty, and on our extravagance. Since writing the above, we have succeeded in finding an excellent local mechanic shop, with two very talented, and as far as we can tell, very honest mechanics. They will complete the rest of the work needed, then it's off to a body shop to sort out the doors and we should be good to go.

Last weekend we were invited to the ?th birthday party of a neighbor, China (pronounced 'chee-na'), the mother of Chino. I know she too has a real name, but she is China to all. We have been told she is 40, 42, even 45, but she claims 38, and who am I to argue? The party was held at their home, just down the road from Edwin's. Great quantities of food were served, and even greater quantities of alcohol consumed. The music was loud, and by 8pm, people were dancing beneath the fluorescent light in the tiny living room. At one point, the stereo was silenced so as to allow the dulcet strains of the Buenos Aires Marching Band to waft in from the front yard, where roughly 10 musicians of varying ages and genders stood to serenade China. In addition to the more traditional parade route fare, they pulled off a convincing rendition of a popular Cumbia tune, which had everyone bouncing around the yard, slipping in the mud and laughing at the persistent drizzle (which had little or no effect on the band.) The festivities lasted until well past 2am, when the rum ran out and the rain intensified.

We've had more blackouts of late than at any other time in our stay. Aside from the daily "planned" outages, from 8am-2pm, the heavy rains caused a nearby pole to topple and a transformer to explode, leaving around 100 homes powerless for over three days. Just as we were about to go out and buy a small generator and a large cooler, The Company got to us and restored our lights. Then just last night, as Pat and I sat watching a very disturbing documentary a friend lent us called "America: Freedom to Fascism" by Aaron Russo (I recommend it, but it's going to really make you angry), we heard a large truck rumbling down our road, followed by a loud thwump, and then a crack as the power line snapped and all went black. We ran outside to see the edge of the cable snagged on the top of the truck, which was now trying to back away, taking the line with it. I yelled at them to stop (no one had actually gotten out of the truck to see exactly what had happened), and no fewer than four guys leapt from the cab. When I pointed up to the line, they all started yelling, and one climbed up the side of the truck and kicked the line free. Another one said to me, Don't worry—it's nothing serious. I pointed to our house and said, But you've knocked out our power! Ah, he said, Well, have a good night. And off they went. We looked around, and realized ours was the only house in blackness, which seemed odd considering the precarious angle of the electric pole, now leaning out over the road by several feet, and the trails of very loose (but still attached) wires hanging less than ten feet above. Pat looked up to where the cables run into the house and saw that the negative had just snapped, leaving about two feet of empty space. So we trotted up the road to Edwin's and explained what had happened. He agreed to come down to see what he could do, and followed us with an assortment of cables and tools. Within five minutes of being up the ladder, twisting into place a spare piece of cable, he had restored our lights. We then tied colorful plastic bags on the lower-hanging cables, in hopes of warning future vehicles. The Company was notified, but it could be days before anything is done; that or another truck that this time takes out the entire block. (Update: about six days later, in the middle of an English class—around 7pm on a Friday—The Company deigned to return. They immediately cut off all power to the block, then stood the pole up straight and left again, without raising the cables still crossing the road at less than fifteen feet…)

The other night Pat, Edwin, & I embarked on a lengthy discussion of Nicaraguan politics. It began after Edwin told us the Mayor's office had asked him to assume the responsibilities of First Counsel to the mayor, as the man currently in that position will now be the vice-mayor because the vice-mayor must resign in order to run for mayor in next year's election. At first, Edwin wasn't too keen. In the first place, like most of Buenos Aires, he despises the current mayor. She is a conniving, two-faced, opportunistic thief—and those are some of the nicer things we've heard her called. So the idea of being linked to her administration did not sit well with him. But then he realized that if he took the job, he would be in a much stronger position to help us and the Scheers, another N. American couple with property on the lake, finally get the 99 year leases Ms. Mayor had been dangling in front of us all year. We told him that he absolutely should not do anything he didn't want to do solely on our account, which he appreciated, but after mulling it over for a couple weeks, decided to do anyway. Pat asked him if he himself had any mayoral aspirations; he said no. Pat said, But you'd be ideal. Edwin said, Well maybe, but he'd prefer to keep himself and his family unsullied by the inevitable corruption and filth that generally accompany government positions in Nicaragua. (And pretty much everywhere else.)

From there we went on to discuss how to fix Nicaragua, debating the pros and cons of 'top-down' vs. 'bottom-up' solutions, before finally concluding a bit of both was required, but first, corruption had to be brought under control, and how realistic was that?

Sunday morning at eleven, Pat and I found ourselves seated in a pew in the local Catholic Church, awaiting the commencement of the one-year anniversary mass for Edwin's mother, who passed away last year. There was an impressive turnout of over 200 people, including at least 35 immediate family members from assorted other cities. His mother was, by all accounts, a wonderful woman, much loved by family, friends, and community. The mass lasted just over an hour, although in the midday heat, it felt more like three. It was Pat's first mass in nearly twenty years; longer for me, going back to the few times in grade school I spent the night at a Catholic friend's house and accompanied the family to church. Back then, I found all the fancy language and constant motion—sitting, standing, kneeling—an entertaining novelty. Fortunately, any impending boredom was kept at bay by the antics of Linda, Edwin & Reyna's five-month old puppy, who had followed us in, and spent most of the mass wriggling about under our feet and gnawing on the base of the pews. No one seemed the least bit aggrieved by her presence, and when it was finally over, she was sound asleep under our feet, and I had to carry her out. Throughout the mass, my eyes kept landing on a vision in pink taffeta. A sort of brunette Barbie, sporting a flashy crown and holding a bouquet of plastic roses. Somehow, she seemed a bit out of place with the other nearly life-sized icons littered about: one, or possibly two St. Francis', each clutching a small child; a St. Joseph (remember—he's the patron saint of Buenos Aires); a very youthful Mary, and of course Jesus himself up above the altar. All of these rendered in plaster and faded paint, apparently perched on their pedestals since the church first opened its massive wooden doors. Finally I couldn't stand my ignorance another minute and leaned over to ask Edwin who this apparition might be. "La Virgen de Guadalupe," came the answer. Pat pointed out that she was generally several shades darker, and not often found in a prom dress, but the locals are very proud and protective of her, to the extent that she only gets hauled around town once a year, and only when it's sunny. Toward the end of the mass the "choir", which consisted of three members of the community singing to pre-recorded music, began what we quickly recognized as Simon & Garfunkel's "Sounds of Silence", except someone had changed not only the language, but all the words as well, so that now it was all about God and his benevolence, and nothing whatsoever about silence. Mercifully, the mass ended soon thereafter, and we were free to go back to Edwin's and make merry.

Today is Halloween, and it is raining again. We are better prepared this time around, having purchased bright yellow rain gear from the agricultural products store, but I expect it will be a sweaty experience bicycling about in a layer of rubber… If the local wags are correct, however, November should see the skies clearing and the temperatures dipping, and that is definitely something to look forward to.