Hola Vecina!

These are all over the site and I have gotten quite fond of drinking out of them.

On my way to the welder's workshop (I will give the background for this visit next - just know that it involves getting fed up with being The Invisible White Woman) I wanted to first stop by the house to have a talk with the windows.

I also wanted to come over and say "Hi, we are not forgetting you, this is just a little rest and we will all be back very soon." Whoever "we" is going to be.

Walking around the three sweet rooms (I will talk about the elephant in the shower in a bit) I am loving the quiet of the countryside in the morning. Last Saturday, the place was hopping, with many of the little casitas being worked on and much music playing. I still don't fully "feel" the neighborhood but I loved the activity and its creative energy.

But this is early and this is Tuesday and also, I have to pee.

I just drank a big glass of the sweetest freshly squeezed orange juice, I have a good size drive ahead of me and while I can stop along the way, well, I have never peed in my house before. And I really like the idea.

A few hours later my girlfriend would ask me why I did not go into the bathroom and I would answer that well, how many opportunities would I get to pee in my living room? Not many, I hope. Not to mention that really, the bathroom, other than being called the bathroom is not any more ready for this kind of activity than the living room.

I look around, spot one of the many halved bottles of Sprite that the guys use as drinking glasses, and right there, with the birds singing and the jungle nearby and my walls mostly surrounding me, my house and I commune on this intimate gesture for the first time.

It feels so good, a ritual of sort. An inside joke, too. My house and me. Just the two of us.

Or so I think.

I am mid-drip drying, being sure to avoid my flowy pants, when I hear - very, very close - Hola, vecina! 

Vecina. Neighbor. Damn, that's me.

No one has called me vecina here before. And now, with my butt bouncing over the dirt floor somewhere between the kitchen and the art studio ... vecina.

Voy! I call out. I am coming!

Making a mental note to empty and discard the Sprite bottle/drinking glass/toilet before leaving, I walk out as respectably as I can and meet Ismael, a very nice seeming gentleman who is finishing building his house across "the street" from mine. It turns out I had seen him both at the well water meeting and in my current street, near my little cabin a few days ago. He had called me vecina then and I had been confused, having never noticed him on that street. But I had smiled and said good morning and had not thought about it since.

But there he was, smiling and hoping for a tour.

It was a very nice visit. Maybe the first glimpse of easy neighborly-ness. He and his family are still living in the village, renting, and they hope to be moving here in October. A construction guy himself he commented on the beauty of my ceiling, the giant stones jutting out of the cistern, and I am sure noticed that while I said my plan was to move within a few short weeks, things were rather quiet for a Tuesday morning. Falta bastante. Yes, we still have a way to go, I agreed.

Poco a poco, he said, smiling.
You have no idea, I thought.

After he left and before I hopped in the car on my way to the welder's, I made sure to empty the green plastic vessel and throw it away, lest someone decided to fill it with ice and get a nice refreshing drink.

I would lie if I said that I didn't, for a deliciously mischievous second, consider leaving it there for just that purpose.