We wash and sweep the sidewalks. We trim grass with clippers. We build boats on dirt roads. We see. We chat. We photograph. We post.

We have a good friend, Jon Adler, visiting us from our past hometown of Steamboat Springs, Colorado, USA. On his to-do list was to get a local haircut and a straight-edge shave, so today we took him to a barbershop on the SE corner across from the church, which always seems to be packed. The barber’s chair, and all four plastic chairs for people waiting were taken, half an hour before they closed for lunch, so a little after 1:00, I returned with Jon (my husband, John, went home) and we waited his turn. Cesar, the barber, greeted us with …

We have been watching this rain approach via computer models. We shopped for groceries. Made sure we had enough purified water. Froze two gallon-sized water jugs to later be placed in the fridge if we lost power. And cancelled a Game Night we were planning to host on our open air terrace. And today it arrived. Although tomorrow it’s supposed to be worse. We lost power last night around 2 am. It’s still off. And was off most of yesterday morning. I sit outside on my covered front porch writing this at 5:38 pm by what little natural light is …

A perfect heart. A boat and brilliant flowers. Arteries etched in sand. And an abandoned, washed up dream.

Jose may be missing his leg but he has his son Francisco and dog Oso who pick him up every day and brings him to the river by the edge of the sea to see what they can see. Jonathan has the intricately beautiful art made by his mother to hold and to sell but he doesn’t have the tourists to buy it. And we may each lack a magic wand but at least we do have the hearts that could wave it.

He carries a mosquito fumigation gun which routinely blasts mosquito-killing chemicals into homes and businesses in town. She carries a pail full of plantains on her head. He carries upon his head fresh strawberries balanced on a full and well-cared-for box labeled Washington State Apples. Babies are carried in the crook of one arm while the bicycle is steered with the other. Grandmothers are carried, seated side saddle, on the back of son’s motorcycles. And hidden away, but just as colorful and unique, each one of us carries our hopes, dreams and fears.

•Wednesday Night was Writer’s Group: 6 Writers •Thursday Afternoon was Speed English’s first event: 10 English-Language Students & 10 Fluent-English Speakers •Friday Morning was Water Aerobics at Pelican Eyes: 6 of us old farts keeping in shape •Saturday was Farmer’s Market at Big Wave Dave’s: Many people •Sunday was Oscar Danilo Collado Dinarte’s church youth group at our house for a swim: 13 darling kids learning how to swim and 7 lifeguards I sweep the house. Do a load of laundry. And take a long nap.

On September 15, 1821, The Central American provinces declared their independence from Spain, and for the past several months here the local students have been preparing for the annual celebration. You could hear drumming at all hours of the day, and some nights. It became background music, joining the steady beat of the waves. But what a grand celebration it was! This was our first year here for it. Last year our home was rented out for this long weekend, so we remained in the States until our house was free. And the year before, we’d just left Nicaragua to …

Water tanks. We see them everywhere in Nicaragua. And in Mexico too, when we lived there recently. On top of houses. On metal structures in fields by houses. And rows of huge tanks in housing developments, alongside roads. In Mexico they call them tinaques. Here in Nicaragua they’re called tanques. Their function is to hold water, which has either been pumped up to them from a well or fed directly from the town water supply. In our case, it’s a 1,100 liter (290 gallon) plastic blue tank which sits on the ground behind our house. Two water lines come on …