Losing my dog in the woods

I lost my dog in Cole's Woods today. She has gotten sudenly very old in the last few months, and trails behind me when we walk, until we're clearly headed back to the car, and then she trots out in front. We don't know yet why she's so old, so suddenly. Perhaps the years oaf chronic Lyme disease or the months of drugs have damaged her kidneys and joints, and aggravated her hip dysplasia. Perhasp she's just partied hard and she is done. I am trying to walk carefully through what seems to be the beginning of the end of her life. In the woods today, we walked a loop that crosses Halfway Brook, where she usually takes a dip. She didn't today -- it was raining lightly the whole walk -- but she seemed perky, so I decided to add another little loop to the walk. I turned around and headed off on another trail. As I turned, I called Cassie, and I know that she saw me. I was thinking deeply as I was walking, not paying much attention. I turned left on a shortcut to head back to the car, and walked some more. Finally, I woke up and turned around -- no Cassie. "Cassie!"I called, sure that she was just sniffing something or dawdling. No Cassie. I went back to the turn -- no Cassie. I walked back on the trail I'd followed, calling gettin gmore and more concerned -- she doesn't even have a tag. No Cassie. I went to the brook -- no Cassie. Finally, I saw her -- up the trail where we would usually have gone. She looked unconcerned. She knows I'll come for her. I know she won't always be here.

Guatemala

I spent nine days in Guatemala, five of them working with Safe Passage. Safe Passage educates and cares for children of the dump pickers or guajeros in Guatemala City; these are the poorest of the poor. The organization, as it turned out, is extremely well run, and needs money more than weekly gringo volunteers, arguably. I spent the week arguing in my head, trying to find some peace. We mostly worked with the youngest children in the guarderia, or child care center. The language barrier was not such an issue there, and even my terrible Spanish was adequate. But I can't say that I was needed, or even all that helpful. Still, I think it was nice for the Guatemalan day care workers to have some respite -- other pairs of hands to push the swings, wipe the noses, carry the children around. Freddie, an ex-soccer star I guess who works for Safe Passage, says that all that is important for these children is this moment, so the fact that we come from America just to spend time is meaningful. I don't know -- I wondered and still wonder if the money spent on plane tickets (huge) and lodging (less) would have been more helpful than another set of strange white faces appearing and disappearing. Do the children ever feel like exotic and pampered zoo inhabitants? This is a terrible question to ask, but that's my nature -- to find those terrible questions and ask them. I don't pretend to have answers.

Apparently every conceivable system in Guatemala is so corrupt that organizations formed in Guatemala and run by Guatemalans inevitably go down in disgrace. So being from somewhere else, and white, is apparently a good thing. We certainly brought good intentions, even me, despite my many qualms, which I mostly kept to myself. The children were charming as children are, and beautiful, as Mayans are, which is not surprising. What is perhaps surprising is how normal they are, given that they go home to utter and abject poverty. Ninety percent of them are sexually abused at some point, sooner or later. But in the guarderia, and in the school, they are just kids.

Odd, too, perhaps, that given all my misgivings and the awkward questions that keep popping into my head, that I really deeply enjoyed the trip. I liked the people we traveled with , and I very much liked the Safe Passage volunteers and staff, who do such good work so matter of factly. I also enjoyed walking in Antigua, where we stayed for safety, each morning before anyone but Dona Margarita, our house mother, was up. I'd walk down the street, past all the people hurrying to work and to school, past the bakeries and the tiendas, to an old, moldering Catholic church. I would sit in the back row and listen to Mass in Spanish and pray that I would have strength for the day, which largely involved keeping my mouth shut. I would pray that my doubts would not dampen the spirits or the experience of those less afflicted, especially my husband, who has a rare ability to set questions aside when there is a good experience to be had. That I was largely successful in this I credit in part to Safe Passage, and especially our liason, Lisa, who had heard all the questions and still welcomed us all in to give and get hugs and love, and hopefully not head lice. I hope I learned a bit how to do that, and whether or not I did any lasting good, I hope the children could see how beautiful they are through another set of gringo eyes.