St. Vincent De Paul

9.5 Wednesday

A 5:05 wake-up call and the beginnings of a spectacular spectacular sunrise; a curtain of dark clouds split at the seams by dark red, Lamjung opens an eye and the slow cadence of life stirs; in the south a rainbow emerges as light shines on the Pame Valley ridges, cracks in the east illuminate cirrus drifters and what a lousy camera I have, though such wonders didn’t leave me too disappointed.  I remember. 

I told Maya after I primed the plywood stuck on the back of door six I’d go ahead and paint all the back doors.  A gallon of black paint, a liter of what sure smells like gasoline, a brush, a rag and the job took about four hours.  Cleaning paint drops off the floors and walls with the flammable stuff my hands after scrubbing and taking a shower still reek.  Sure I like the smell of petrol, what man doesn’t but not on my hands for hours.

Didi is outside cleaning the windows.  I just managed to get dressed after my shower before she came.  My sarong could easily come off if I get up quickly so I will stay put until she is finished which is soon I hope. 

While I was in Pittsburgh a little more than two years ago I bought a pair of Teva trekking boots on-line.  Upon receiving them they were very snug, a normal pair of socks was all I could wear.  This wasn’t a good thing during the winter of 2010.  In addition the waterproof leather wasn’t waterproof very well.  I took them to Turkey with me but never wore them.  Then I went to Sarangkot, brought the boots and never wore them there.  For the next ten months they were under Maya’s bed and today I tried to put one on and these very nice looking boots are now too small to wear.  So, the Indian made shoe I bought for climbing, and have only worn once, for about ten minutes, will have to do. 

I suppose wearing athletic sandals would be fine, it’s just the snow and very cold temps at the base camps that keeps the boots in action.

Didi is always talking to me in Nepalese and I go on as if I don’t know I don’t hear her.  When she does address me we communicate in our native languages and are able to achieve common agreement because in the end it doesn’t matter. 

Fog rolls in from the North, a mostly cool partly sunny, partly cloudy, showers last night, a brief one this morning.  I gave the neighbors above the lodge money to repair the fallen wall.  They are a new family with a fat baby and Ramesh said he didn’t have the money to do anything with a landslide into the garden.

A Taiwanese student checks in to room one.  I told him about the wet painted door and offered incense but he refused. Suraksha storms in, with the German chocolate finished this morning I offered my last sweet and she spit it out.  How many kids today don’t like Twizzlers?  It is a bit of a let down after European dark noir. 

And a mosquito buzzes my ear from behind and dodging I almost lost the laptop.  Holy cow they’re big here, as big as sparrows. 

Six pm, all is calm on the balcony.  Didi, Kave, sometimes Maya, cleaning and painting.  Maya’s brother comes in, suggests we visit his home in Daudana.  With the long sleeve shirt buttoned up, hair slicked back like they used to wear in the 1940’s, he used to do pipe-fitting but he had a stone removed and suddenly I remember Kave said he had his stone removed.  Well, in either case, life hasn’t been great for him, but he survives and chalks up misfortune to fate.  Ke garne?  He says, they say, we say. I say.  All things have been determined so if you are determined to live from job to job with constant illness and family in need of help, well, shit, that just sucks and it makes me want to help but it’ll never be enough, not when you’re not  right in the head.  There are thousands on the streets of San Diego that cannot be helped because they are not right in the head.  You don’t believe me I’ll show you what street I slept on and where I got in line to take a dump, where I found food.  They can be fed, given clothes, sometimes shelter, but that’s it. 

We are to take care of these, right?  Absolutely. 

My last day on the streets, headed to the airport, the security at St. Vincent De Pauls decided to put up huge fences in order to control the already bulging masses coming in for meals served.  “Don’t treat these people like animals.  We are not animals to be put inside a dog cage” Unrest, dissent from the mentally disenfranchised, rumblings, I got a bus to catch.