Post MONSTER!!

Oh you're regretting coming to this blog now, aren't you? There's too much to read!
Sorry! But I think you'll enjoy it.
Along the lines of giving more details about life here I'm including a couple little short stories (?) I've written since arriving.

The fighting cocks still crow--even though it's almost 4pm. Their excitement must be the equivalent of me exclaiming "It's too hot!" The children next door are playing the country's favourite sport: basketball. Three older boys and one young girl--she's giggling hysterically leaving herself no strength to throw the ball which in turn only annoys the boys. I remember that age--swooning and laughing over my brother's friends and being young enough to have it be ok, and even cute.
Somewhere the radio is blaring 1950s Americana love songs--quaint little tunes no longer than 3 minutes each with that familiar tempo epitomized by Patsy Cline or Frank Sinatra. Hearing it sounds so much like home, but then it clashes badly with the rough brush brush brush of a handmade bamboo broom scratching along packed down, bone-dry earth. At least they're in time with each other.
Thank God for my Jumbo 16 Hatari fan (on speed 2 of 3)--even though it gathers and heaves in my face the smoke from the rubbish fires burning outside.
Yes, thank God for my Jumbo 16 Hatari fan.

The children have stopped playing and now there's the harsh sound of rocks landing on a tin roof--what the...they're throwing rocks at me!
I peak out the window to see them throwing broken pieces of concrete bricks up and gently arching through a tree in their yard (and partly in ours). With each expert toss, by the boys mind you, some green vegetation is brought down too---is it buko? Coconuts? Oh, green mangoes.
The girl tries a few tosses amid giggles--ah, she's the one hitting our roof. The boys have squatted down with their afternoon marienda and are peeling the sour, unripe mangoes with their machetes, then dipping them in sugar? Or is it salt?
...Oh, I'm a genius; it's both. But never together Maricor tells me. Maricor doesn't tell me much except through her body language and lack of response to me, bar giggling or 'O po.', that she doesn't understand me.
Thank God I've made it through the worst part of the day. I can relax now and maybe turn the fan down a notch.