In Search of a Bottle

This morning there was no electricity at the Hernandez residence. It was no big deal. This most often happens before mid-afternoon, Leyda told us. We made do.

Marlo and I had our daily dose of gin—he’s now ahead by 30 games.

Except for a few items, we packed our suitcases for tomorrow’s return flight. Miguel, our taxi driver, wil stop for us at 7 a.m.

Then, we head for the outdoor swing and sway in silence among the trees and breeze and flowers and sky. In this moment,  I want to say with Goethe, “Linger on. You are so fair!”

Pastor John Lee, who coordinated team trips to Nicaragua for several years, once told me that displacement to another culture is prime learning time. Life appears in clear capital letters. Cultural rubs can be transfiguring.

I don’t want to remain longer in this country of transfiguration. I am ready to head home.

However, I do want to take it with me. And I’m afraid it can’t be packed or bottled.

Or can it?

Ignatius advises savoring these moments of consolation. Then, when desolation looms, he suggests recreating them in memory.

So  I linger, savoring the sun and breeze.

As Marlo calls from the Hernandez doorway that electricity—and Internet—are back, I head indoors. But first I place this moment carefully within my heart.

From time to time, I shall return in secret to this garden—and be consoled.