Aventuras Dominicanas: Boca Chica

This post is hard to write because it pulls me in two directions. I have put this off for two weeks as a result. Here goes.

September 13 is my birthday. I loved this as a child because my birthday resonated so well with the rhythm of the school year. My birthday party was a natural way to start the academic season. We all felt sorry for those with summer birthdays, or those whose birthday had to be shared with Jesus.

I have always been shameless about telling people that my birthday is coming up. New colleagues, headmasters, accountants, it matters not. With the slightest of openings, I will tell anyone that September 13 is right around the corner. I am the Irish Setter of birthdays. International school teachers are always up for a party, and I am happy to provide a reason to go out to dinner, take a boat cruise, or come to my place for a potluck. I also get flowers and cakes.

For some strange reason, I kept schtum this year. I am surrounded by great people here - in my cohort group, on my library staff and in the school in general - but I didn't say a word. I did arrange with a colleague to go away for the weekend to the closest beach, Boca Chica. Small Mouth. None of us has a car yet, so this involves negotiating cab fare - everything is negotiable - and finding accommodation. We left directly from school, and en route I began to get messages from my brother Steve about Libby's health. By the next evening, my dear dog was dead. So we spent a lot of money on transportation, stayed at a bad hotel without beach access (they lied on line, imagine), I spent Saturday in panic and Sunday in tears, and then we came home. It was not a photographing sort of weekend.