Kaulbach's Modern World

Santo Domingo in October.  The mangos are gone but the bananas and lechosa still overflow the bicycle vendor's cart. From watching the custodians at school meticulously carve lechosa into crushed ice and evaporated milk blended into a mid morning treat, I too have something to look forward to in my own morning ritual. My morning has changed slightly. No longer does the drive to awake at 4:30 for a run in the park beckon me.  Instead in a Proust moment, the smell of hay gathered from mowed grasses in the Mirador Sur draw me in for the late afternoon. Kata has soccer now so I have an hour alone. The hay is reminiscent of Vermont but new to me is the sound of baseball. the mowed meadows are swarmed by parents and coaches and young men in uniform, cracking their bats and calling plays. It has a rthym? or maybe not but I need to keep listening, watching because I have this need to put that acoustic in my memory.  I have yet to go to a game but it will happen. October w...

No man is an island, Entire of itself, Every man is a piece of the continent, A part of the main...                                   (John Donne) Celebrating our third month abroad today and it feels as if a lifetime has passed. We have a new appreciation for the geography of Santo Domingo, protected by its cliffs, its bay and its height above water since the visit with  Hurricane Matthew (September 28).   Living abroad reminds me daily of how insignificant I am, and a  hurricane speeds up that feeling like the double fast foward button on a remote. Days before it struck, we were partying on the Malacon and planning Marc's trip for a conference in Guadalajara, Mexico.  At the time, I embraced the independence but that week brought me closer to my reliance on the communities of Santo Domingo.  I reacted like everyone else and  stocked up on groceries. Here in Sa...