Nadine Hays Pisani - The Sequel

Nadine Hays Pisani

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Nadine Hays Pisani

All rights reserved.

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Table of Contents

I

Gray ash rains down like confetti as myhusband pulls into the driveway. This is a normal occurrence whenyou live at the base of a volcano. Occasionally, the craterreleases pressure by ejecting ash three hundred feet into the air.Its quite the sight. On some mornings, the ash is so white itreminds me of snowflakes; I could almost stick my tongue out andcatch one. Thats until I get a whiff of the accompanying sulfuricgas. Im quickly reminded that Poas Volcano is my neighbor, onethat can be as cantankerous as a grumpy old man.

I cant help but think of my mortality ondays like this. Lets face it. I live near a volcano, on a faultline, in a country where mudslides can wash away entire villages.And because I want to make sure Rob is taken care of in theunfortunate event I find myself tobogganing down the side of thismountain, I spend an unusual amount of time deciding on who willbecome his second wife.

If I kick the bucket, Giada de Laurentiis,the Italian-American chef, is my lucky replacement. She has it all:beauty, culinary skills, and apparently a very good dentist. I havenever seen such white teeth. Im positive Rob would be in goodhands; this woman cooks everything he loves and does it all with aperky disposition. The only problem I see with Giada is that youcant be too picky with her food. If she gives you a sausagesandwich in a purple paper bag, you better just eat it and not askany questions. Shell smack it right out of your hands if youcomplain. That sparkly smile of hers hides an Italian temper. Imsure of it.

I need to ask you something, Nadine, Robsays after walking through the front door. Hes just met with ourarchitect in town, and by the look on his face Im suspecting itdidnt go well. When you practice your Spanish on Rosetta Stone,do you actually speak into the microphone or do you just skip thatpart and move on to the next lesson?

I try to repeat the phrases, and if I saythem correctly, the little green light turns on.

And does that little green light ever goon?

Hmm, nah. But its not my fault. I cantroll my rs and practically every word in this language ispronounced that way. Its a disability, Rob. I have a lazytongue.

When I was in elementary school, I had fouryears of speech therapy for a lisp and a lazy R. I was repeatedlypulled out of class by Mrs. Cohen, the speech therapist. I then satfor hours in a room where I had to repeat phraseslike thepresumptuous Sally rides red roller coasters onSaturdayover and over again for hours. It was even moreglamorous than youre imagining. I was also required to stare atpictures of tongues, and was frequently reminded of how mine wasdefective, flopping around in my mouth like an unmanned firehose.

Rob informs me Ive been teaching him theincorrect word for pay. Its actually the word for punch.Unfortunately, our architect didnt find the humor in this when Robasked to punch him at the end of the meeting.

Nadine, I must have mispronounced this toeveryone from the gasoline attendant to cashiers in the hardwarestore. Ive even threatened the nine-year-old boy who sells usmangos at the farmers market. Basically, Ive been bullying half ofCosta Rica when all I want to do is paythem.

Its not my fault that those two words,pagar and pegar, sound the same. Tomato, Tah-mato, whats thedifference? I ask.

One will get me arrested for assault.Thats the difference, he grunts. It looks like Rob might beshopping for a second wife sooner than I anticipated.

I suppose this creates quite the problem. Bythe end of any given day, Rob is threatening the baker, crackingthe egg vendor, and even the old man at the butcher shop is gettinga smack. Im surprised we ever made it out of there alive.

Its true. Ive failed Rosetta Stone, anhonor bestowed on only a select group of idiots. If I could justget those little green lights to appear, waving me onto the nextlesson, it would do wonders for my self-esteem.

At least Im not like those people who comehere bragging about the four years of Spanish they took in highschool. Im fluent, they boast at a restaurant as theyrepeat words like El Salvador and burrito like they interned in aChilean mining camp. But when the waiter comes over discussing thespecials, they freeze up realizing they havent heard or spoken thelanguage in twenty years. I feel vindicated during theseencounters, even if Rob has been telling the waiters hes going tobeat them up after dessert.

When I go back to the states to visit myfamily, they love to tease me about my horrible Spanish. To getthem off my back, Ive decided to make up words since they dontknow what Im saying anyway. Only my twelve-year-old niece is on tome. She takes Spanish in school and knows that her aunt is a fraud.Thats okay, I keep her quiet by taking her to Claires tobuy headbands and sunglasses. Then to top it off, we end the daywith a frothy Starbucks beverage that her mother would never lether drink. Im being extorted by an accessorized andthanks tomehighly caffeinated middle schooler.

I should probably amp up the lessons sincewere finally working with an architect and are one step closer tobuilding our house. Knowing the words for door and window couldcome in handy. While Rob sits at our kitchen table and looks overthe architects drawings, I go back to working on my blog. LatelyIve been getting a lot more comments. They are mostly positiveexcept for this one guy who greets me every morning with:

Hey happier, you sound like an idiot. Dropdead.

Its like eighth grade homeroom all overagain.

I like posting all the funny things we do.It seems like this mountaintop in Grecia makes me more creative.Besides the occasional kinkajou jumping at my window, I have veryfew distractions. I now understand why so many writers go onretreats to wintery bed and breakfasts to finish manuscripts. Justtake that guy from Misery. Having his legs bashed in byKathy Bates was probably the best thing for his writing career.Where else can you get that kind of focus?

But my quiet life on the volcano is about tobe uprooted. If we are seriously going to build this house we haveto move to the beach. I just finished Under the Tuscan Sun(for the third time), and it gives me hope that my story willturn out like hers. If she can have a beautiful home overlookingfields of olive trees in Italy, how hard can it be to build myocean-view home in Costa Rica?

Well be saying goodbye to our dear littletown of Grecia. I love this place but it is time to go and build onour property. Although we decided not to build at our originallocation, we have found the perfect spot for us at the beach andits clear that starting the permit process is impossible to dowhen you live five hours away. A part of me wants to stay; itswonderful here, and I dont know if building a house is going toadd any more happiness to my life. The time Ive spent in CostaRica has calmed my compulsive urge to always think bigger isbetter. I have since learned bigger usually means a lot moreindigestion.

It doesnt make sense to keep renting whenwe have a beautiful ocean-view property, Rob says.

But I really like it in Grecia. Our friendsare here.

Yeah? So is the Dog Lady. Wouldnt it benice to have a day where we dont have to entertain her five dogs?It would be great getting away from Dolores. It appears that Imight be the only one left she is allowed to visit anymore. Hercrew of dogs keeps changing, but they all continue to pee on myyoga mat, new sneakers, and our barbecue. Sometimes she joins them,always wanting to be closer to nature by whizzing behind my azaleabush. Every morning I pray she sleeps in. Even the Luftwaffe tookan occasional day off.