The continuous rumble of the cement mixer is the one thing that mars this perfect day, I thought. While in the US people are posting fall photos, life here on the mountain in Honduras remains quite the same. Perhaps it’s a little cooler. And today is absolutely beautiful with the sun and breeze. Laundry flies like a flag from the line and I could probably do a half dozen loads if it weren’t for the fact that I am sharing water pressure with that noisy cement mixer. Earlier I untangled the jumbled hose and as I walked from retrieving the pressure nozzle found it was now strung across the front yard. Someone sent Jose over to ask if they could “borrow” it and the word yes came out though the thought in my head was less gracious , “looks like you already have.” The workers remind me of ants with a line of five gallon buckets of cement. Several load dirt and gravel continuously into the two mixers while others bring more sifted dirt.
We talk about “sensory adaptation” at dinner (hubby is teaching AP psychology and Charis is his student) and how the mind can choose to block out certain noises- but there are times that I just need to get away from the construction zone that exists in my front yard, or what once was a yard. Now between rainy season and the daily dump truck loads of supplies all that exists are muddy imprints around the piles of dirt, rocks and rebar. Normally I live with the windows open, but the diesel smell from the dump trucks is overpowering and closing it blocks the sound some. I have to work harder to chose joy when my “personal space” is constantly invaded.
Not long ago, during devotions I about jumped out of my skin as I saw a face moving in our front window. The guard finally knocked softly and let us know that everything was locked up outside. “It’s my job to check it every night. And to make sure your family are ok.” I’m glad for his extra attention to things.
The workers were told they had to complete the project of pouring floors before they left. Fernando from church works there and I thought of his family waiting until long after dark for dinner with Papi. As I took clothes from the line at dusk I could still hear them working and I wondered how long it would be-”keep them safe in the dark Lord.” Hubby came to ask about lights, “Do we have any we could string up for them so they can see? I gave them one of our lanterns, but it’s still so dark.” “No, I don’t think so,” I answered, and he retreated to the junk pile outside the maintenance shed where he managed to find some flourescent lights to rig up. The cement mixer continued to run through dinner and bedtime routine. Then as I heard the foreman’s knock at our door returning the lantern I realized it had stopped. Lord thanks for keeping them safe, thanks for the cool evening and for a breezy day with enough water to do several loads of laundry, thanks for a quiet afternoon with my kids at the playground, thanks for relationships with the guards and construction workers, thanks for quiet.
