Appearing Live at the Beach House in Rincon... a Beautiful Amazing Artist and a Giant Shrek Looking Guy

I can't even begin to tell you how much fun we have been having selling Lorri's art at The Beach House here in Rincon. Besides all of the beautiful sunsets, every night we get to meet awesome new people, and hang out with many of our favorite locals, not to mention our adopted island family on the staff.

Since not a night goes by that we don't get the same questions about us, I thought it might be a good time to tell a bit more of our story here. Not that we are important, or significant, but everyone has a story, and ours started... well, a long time ago...

The main street of Williamson, Iowa. Home to the Williamson Tavern and the world famous giant Papa Burger... and little else, the town boasts about 100 residents, but was once a coal mining boom town in the 1930s.

When I (Buzz) was a kid, I used to spend a lot of time in the tiny town of Williamson, Iowa. There wasn't much of anything to the place, but my father's best friend lived there, and they spent most weekends together drinking beer or hunting or fishing, or wasting time or cutting wood. They had grown up next door to each other in the 1940's and 50's in Chariton a few miles away and were basically inseparable. So when the friend married into a family in the town of Williamson, we all sort of became like family over time, and practically everyone in the little town was related somehow. 

Not a mule, or the actual girl in question, but your get the general idea.

So, I grew up running the streets of Williamson, and as there always is, there was a girl. She was the niece of my dad's best friend and we were born just four months apart. While I ran the town like a wild child with the other boys, she was not allowed to leave the yard. So, in protest, I suppose, she would throw mud pies at me whenever I ran by and yell at me. For my part, I would stick my tongue out and run, but always watching her over my shoulder curiously. She was the prettiest girl I had ever seen. 

She wasn't allowed to leave her yard, as I mentioned...unless she was riding a mule. Her father raised jumping mules for hunting and if she was on a mule, he knew they would take care of her and protect her no matter what. She, for her part, had always wanted a horse with a long and flowing mane. Not an ugly mule, with a coarse mane, and a strong disposition against galloping. 

So it was, that if you ask anyone who knew the town of Williamson back then if they remembered Lorri, they might say they didn't. But if you asked them if they remembered the little barefoot, dirty faced girl riding the mules all the time, they would know immediately who you were talking about. 

Since she so desperately had wanted a horse, she would run the mules up and down the only section of paved road if only to hear their hooves click clacking. She would ride them to the school and the mules would wait for her outside in the school yard. She would even charge a dime for the other kids to ride them sometimes if she was feeling particularly generous. But all that road riding would wear their hooves down to nothing and the mules, and the girl would end up grounded to the yard while the hooves grew back in time for hunting season. 

The WIlliamson School House where mules waited patiently for Lorri to get out class.

So, anyhow, I grew up going to her family events, and hanging out in this tiny town, and always, always having my eye on the little girl who rode the mules around town. Her parents signed my baby book. My parents signed hers. You could say that we had met. But like so many young people, I lived in a state of overwhelming self-consciousness and fear and despite dating once or twice, could just never bring myself to tell that girl how I felt about her. Foolishly, I let her slip through my fingers because I lacked the courage to reveal my feelings.

As they do, months turned to years, and we married and had children. She was as beautiful as ever, and was a successful professional. She was one of those people who seemingly had everything and had it all together. If she was seemingly out of my league and unobtainable in my youth, then she was even more so in adulthood. 

Lorri, the badass volunteer firefighter. One of the first female firefighters in Southern Iowa. 

Since our families remained close, and we lived in the same county all those years, we would see each other from time to time at weddings, or special events or ballgames. As my own life seemed less fulfilling and joyful each day, I felt less fear of telling her how I felt about her, as if I had nothing left to lose, and had already lost so much time. If only I had just thirty seconds alone I would tell her, but I only ever seemingly got less than ten. 

Thirty seconds. And then one day, at long last, there was a break in the crowd, and we were alone, for thirty seconds. Losing her, I told her, had haunted me every day of my life, and I just needed her to know that she was my person. The one I could never let go of. The one whose smile filled my dreams, both sleeping and awake, and whose laughter filled my heart. 

Traditional Southern Iowa hillbilly wedding, complete with brother-in-law turned pastor, and cornhole game in the background.

Beautiful princess and giant headed Shrek-like guy. Still don't know how that happened, but I am not questioning it.

As it turned out, we were neither one happy in our lives. So we set about in a different sort of direction, not in pursuit of happiness, per say, but deliberately and forcefully cutting the things from our lives that made us unhappy. 

We managed through the challenges of joining children and ex-spouses together into a cohesive, functioning unit, and the result is we have five wonderful adult children now, two beautiful daughter-in-laws, four grandchildren, and ex-spouses, who we probably get along with much better now than we ever used to. 

Move over Stone Henge. Meet Nebraska's Car Henge. Scientists still puzzle at how it was created.

For the last ten years of our life, we have travelled and seen some amazing, and slightly less than amazing things together. 

Oktoberfest in Lacrosse, Wisconsin. POLKA! POLKA! POLKA!

We grew in our professional careers. Finished raising our family. And even raised a few goats together (another story).

The Grand Canyon.

Then, a little over a year ago, Lorri had back surgery. As it turned out, she also had a rare condition that caused blood clots in her legs from her knee to her hip that was revealed post-surgery. Were it not for my diligent daily visual inspection of her legs (you're welcome!) she probably would have died. 

Truthfully, I almost lost her anyhow. And that was enough. It was enough to remind us that there was no amount of money worth me spending 200 days on the road away from her as a union representative. Enough to remind us that most folks we know plan and dream and save for days that never come, or lose their good health the day after they retire. Or watch as 401k's are wiped out, or pensions dissolved. There simply are NO guarantees in life.

As we dropped our youngest off at college last fall, we determined that, come hell or high water, we were making some changes. We weren't putting things off. We weren't waiting for perfect timing. We just did it. 

Six years ago, we started coming to Puerto Rico instead of the Florida Keys when we discovered cheap flights and cheaper Airbnbs. Two years ago, we almost accidentally "discovered" the west side. The rest is history. We were immediately hooked. The beaches. The vibe. The people. Forget about it. There is nowhere else. Not for us. 

So, we dropped our daughter off at college, sold or donated or tossed everything. Left high paying professional careers, and moved to Rincon for the winter to "figure out what we want to be when we grow up the second time around." Like the happiness thing... we only knew what we didn't want to do. 

Lorri had grown up around a grandfather who was a woodworker. She was enamored with the smell of sawdust. But she had never touched a saw before. And she can't draw to save her life. But when we moved to Rincon, she immediately set out to be an artist working with wood instead of a training and quality medical professional at a non-profit blood center. 

We rented a house, filled the garage with a bunch of saws, and I went inside to write, waiting for the inevitable pinterest fails and trips to the emergency for stitches. It would take, I figured, about a year for her to turn out something art-worthy. 

Lorri's first scroll saw trees ever.

She was out there for about four hours when she came in and showed me her palm trees. Cut by hand on a scroll saw by a girl who can't draw and had never made a cut before. Now, I can draw a tree, but I can't cut shit with a scroll saw. It is a skill... or an artform, that I do not, nor will I ever, possess. It is as if she, however, was born using the thing though. She draws the rough shape, and then cuts all the details to match the vision in her head. She never ceases to amaze and inspire me.

The Beach House in Rincon

Lorri under the red tent at The Beach House in Rincon, Puerto Rico

Which brings us to The Beach House. How? Why? The answer is simple really... we were already there! 

To say we were Beach House regulars is a bit of an understatement. We would go and watch the sunset and stay late drinking and meeting people. Then, many mornings, we would wake up, talk about what we wanted for breakfast, and end up right back at The Beach House for mimosas with Steak and Eggs or Eggs Benedict. Mmmmm. 

We loved the food, the atmosphere, the staff, the owners, and all of the people we met there. You almost never meet anyone at The Beach House in Rincon who is in a bad mood, or having a bad day. Rather, it is a meeting place for people who are celebrating life, and sunsets, and morning whale spotting. 

So, when Lorri was ready to debut her art, Kevin, the owner, said why go anywhere else? Basically, he gave us permission to set up a tent and tables around the spot in the smoking section where we were already spending most of our time anyhow. It was more or less as if we were already there, and the art show just sort of grew up around us. 

As a result, our first winter here in Rincon has been nothing short of awesome. We plan to be set up every night from now until Easter at The Beach House between the hours of 4pm and 9pm, give or take an hour or two, IF we can keep enough art on hand to justify setting up a table. Our goal of basically paying for our nightly beer and food tab has been blown out of the water as tourists and locals come to visit and take home a piece of Lorri's work. 

She now spends most days in her workshop from sunrise until setup time, filling special orders and working on commissioned pieces, while my life has been reduced to that of a roadie for an artist, setting up tables and tents, and burning up the road buying wood and blades and paint brushes and espressos and everything an artist needs to keep creating. 

Through it all, we are having the time of our lives. We meet amazing new people every night and have developed friendships that we will take with us wherever we go. And while we aren't quite ready to settle down and never leave a place forever, we can never imagine a winter that doesn't end in coming home again... to the people and beaches of Rincon. 

Summer Adventure 2020 coming soon... 

Her name is LuLu, and she is a toy hauler with room enough in back for an art studio!

Come and see us at The Beach House nightly between 4pm and 9pm! Lorri has several new pieces making their debut tonight.

Oh yeah... having too much fun with us? The Beach House has rooms for rent onsite as well, so no need to drink and drive and breakfast and mimosas start at 7am daily while you watch the whales.

Thanks for reading!

Buzz & Lorri Malone

One Artist's Debut at The Beach House in Rincon

Lorri's debut as an artist could not be off to a better start. After two nights of setting up at The Beach House in Rincon, Puerto Rico, she is selling her artwork almost as quickly as she can make it. The photo above shows her signing her first ever sale! Exciting stuff!

Lorri grew up watching her grandfather work with wood, and fell in love with the smell of sawdust. When she proclaimed her desire to be an artist and work with wood, I knew she could do it. I believed in her with all of my heart. She is smart. She has an eye. She is talented. But still, I warned her, she had never worked with wood before, or tools or saws, so be prepared to spend a year or two learning and creating pinterest fails along the way. Don't get discouraged I said. 

I honestly couldn't even watch. It would be too painful. I left her to the workshop full of shiny new saws and paints and instruction manuals. Time, I told myself, and a few trips to the emergency room for stitches, and maybe, who knows...

A few days later she came and showed me her first piece. It was really good. When her scroll saw finally arrived, things got really crazy, and within a few days she was churning out amazing perfect little palm trees. 

Here is the crazy thing. I can draw. Lorri can't. She couldn't draw a palm tree to save her life. But when she sits down at that saw, she has a vision in her head and just cuts to it and it always comes out perfect without a picture. While I can't cut anything besides big pieces into smaller ones. She is AMAZING!  And every day she only gets better and she has only been doing it for a few short months. 

It has been nothing short of inspirational to see her work develop every day, and being at The Beach House in Rincon, we have got to see that I am not biased, as many people are drawn to one piece or another and the response has been awesome. It has been an incredible experience and I could not be more proud of this emerging artist.

We could not have chosen a more beautiful perfect place in all of Puerto Rico to debut Lorri's artwork. But we did not choose The Beach House. The Beach House chose us. Or rather, Kevin, the owner, made space for Lorri when he heard there was no room for her work at the art walk downtown. 

It was early last fall when we first went to The Beach House for breakfast. We were drawn by positive food reviews, and the amazing views overlooking the ocean and Desecheo Island. It was early and the chairs were still atop the tables, but servers found us a place and spent more time than normal making us feel at home. 

View from The Beach House with Desecheo Island in the distance on the right.

From the bathroom, a man emerged with a mop bucket and smile. He found a broom and worked his way along the business front, sweeping and wiping counters. When he neared our table, he stopped to lean on his broom and chat. 

He was a retired New York Firefighter. I thought it was nice the owner hired this retired hero as a janitor to supplement his pension. But I began to worry about his future there when our talk ran into ten and then twenty minutes. 

A rare glimpse of the elusive, photo shy, humble owner of The Beach House

My fears for the poor pensioner were assuaged when I learned the humble janitor who rises with the sun to clean the bathrooms every day is indeed, Kevin, the owner of The Beach House. He talked to us that morning about the beauty and power of the place, the sound of the crowd in the evening in February when a whale spouts in the distance, and the energy of the place when the big waves come in. Like so many locals, Kevin is a man who loves his island, and has taught us how to love and appreciate it all the more. 

In the days and weeks since that first meeting with that humble janitor, Kevin has become a dear friend of ours. I would love to be able to tell the story of the good things he does in the community, but he won't share them. I only hear secondhand accounts from people he has been there to help, or overheard phone calls where he is arranging to send chefs and supplies to earthquake victims. He was a 9/11 responder too, but he will only tell you about "the other guys" and their heroism. 

The Beach House in Rincon Puerto Rico

It is this same humble approach to the business every day that makes the place so special. We love the views and it is the best place in our book to watch the sunset. We love the mix of tourists and locals every night and how even the guests treat one another like there are no strangers. And we love, love, love the food. But more than all of that, we love the people at our Beach House. Kevin, his family, and the staff have become very much like our adopted island family. 

Despite being there almost every day from sunrise until close (7am-midnight, 7 days a week, 365 days a year), Kevin is always the first to blame the good things about the business on the staff. In fact, if you go online and read about the business, this will probably be the only place you ever even see his name or his picture associated with it at all. 

He will tell you the business is great because of their amazing chef, Heriberto Sanchez, and the kitchen staff. He will blame the great vibe of The Beach House on the servers and bartenders and the energy of the island, and the amazing people who are drawn to Rincon. And he will blame his sons and family, who are partners in the business as well. 

And when he does a great favor for an artist friend and lets her set up and show her work there, he will refuse any credit for that as well, and say simply, humbly, that "art is another spice in the soup that makes Rincon and The Beach House so wonderful. It is a soup. You're helping make the soup taste even better." 

I believe that. Our Beach House family has made our time on the island so much more the memorable, and they have lent so much flavor to our lives. The smells of the ocean and the food, the sounds of the music and people, all swirl to create an amazing unique vibe at The Beach House. It really is a soup. It all has to be in there for it to work so well... not least of all... the secret spice... of one retired firefighter cleaning bathrooms, pushing brooms, and entertaining travelers with insider tales of whales and waves and island magic, and soup. We love our Beach House. 

The Beach House is not only a great place for art, breakfast, lunch, dinner and live music sunsets. It is a great destination for your stay in Puerto Rico! Check out their website here:

http://www.thebeachhouserincon.com/

Like their Facebook Page:

The Beach House Facebook

The Beach House also happens to be the ONLY Puerto Rican bar nominated for a USA Today Reader's Choice Award for Best Caribbean Beach Bar! Please hurry and cast your vote for them here:

USA Today 10 Best VOTE

This is not a paid advertisement. The views expressed are those of the authors and have not been approved by The Beach House. 

Thank you for reading!

Buzz & Lorri Malone

The Darker Side of Living in Puerto Rico

 Now that we have been down here for more than a month, most of the people I talk to back home are starting to wonder when this fad will end, and if we still like it here. They want to know if the newness has worn off, and almost to a person they want to hear about the negatives as if they are almost hoping we think it sucks by now. 

The picture above is of me (Buzz) at the beach this morning. Did I mention it is an island surrounded by beaches? I feel like those questions can mostly be reduced to one of the following:

A) Don't you miss the freezing cold that makes your bones hurt back home yet?

B) I hate my life and I hope your sucks too. If it doesn't suck then you're probably lying about something.

C) I actually love you guys and wish it would suck more for you down there so you will come back to Iowa. 

But, in the spirit of trying to answer all questions we receive, I will take a swing at the most common stuff here.

What about crime? Isn't Puerto Rico like some third world country?

NO. It is not a third world country. It is part of America in fact. Crime exists just like it does everywhere. In the big cities there is a problem with drugs just like everywhere, and there are related murders and crime just like everywhere, but below the averages for most "American" cities. Where we live (outside of the larger cities) crime is not that much of an issue, and since most crimes are property crimes, and the vast majority of those are crimes of opportunity, we simply try not to walk around with hundred dollar bills glued to our foreheads. 

What about healthcare? Aren't you worried that you will get sick and die for lack of medical attention or have to get worked on by some horse doctor or something?

No. They have real doctors and plenty of them. There are shortages of some specialty doctors here though. And the system works differently. You don't usually make appointments. You show up at the office and it is first come, first serve. When I went to the doctor I had to wait about an hour. 

Now, here is the rest of the story on healthcare. Most people do not worry about it so much here, because health issues, and even hospital stays, will not rack up million dollar bills. There is a flat rate for stays in the hospitals and they don't charge you like, $900 for an aspirin. I know. Crazy, right? 

Beyond that, when you need medications from a local pharmacy and they aren't controlled substances like opiate pain killers, you skip the doctor's visit, walk in and say I would like 100 anti-depressants so I can happily answer everyone's questions in my blog later, and an antibiotic for the ear infection the constant saltwater presence in my bad ear is causing, please. And then, like magic, the pharmacist gives you what you need, and at a fraction of the cost of in the States. Why? Why is it so much cheaper and easier everywhere else? Great question every American in the States should be asking themselves. 

What about DANGER? Aren't you afraid? Like, at night and stuff?

It's funny when I hear variations of this question. This one should actually be posed as "I am prejudiced as shit against people who don't look like me, and the most terrifying thing in the world is walking into a dark bar and being the only pasty white face inside."

Seriously. Prejudice is fear. People are all the same no matter where you go. We are not afraid of people. Any people. Sometimes we even find some that we like no matter where we go. 

If you are afraid of being the only pale face in a massive crowd of slightly darker faces after the sun has gone down, then don't come to Puerto Rico. Period. It's just that easy. Own your prejudices and recognize that nowhere on this entire island do the homogenized all-white resorts exist where the only "local" is that one bartender who smiles all the time and always makes your drink just so. 

What about the food? How is the food? Is it spicy like Mexico?

Well, here is where I will get myself into the trouble with my Puerto Rican friends. 

Mostly, the food is either fried at beachside places, or pretty bland. And when I say bland... I am talking about the 500 ways they try to turn plantains (the local starch and staple-think potatoes back in the Midwest), into something edible. 

I do not like plantains. They are bland and dry and mushy. The national dish is comprised of plantains that have been fried and mashed. It is called mofongo. It is like eating a baked potato that has been overcooked and stuffed into a dehydrator to remove any remaining traces of moisture. It is then covered with a variety of foodstuffs to try and make you forget there is a massive dollop of mofongo underneath it all, and the stuff is impervious to absorbing any other flavors. 

Every restaurant and every family has their own variation of mofongo. And by variation I mean that one recipe uses the right hand to add a pinch of salt, and another uses the left hand. Worst of all, everywhere you go they take tremendous pride in their mofongo and you end up having to pretend to love it while you swallow it in lumps with entire glasses of water for each tiny bite. 

There. I am keeping it real and will probably now be murdered in my sleep tonight for insulting mofongo. Because you never, ever say anything bad about mofongo here. Ever. It's like trying to live in the Midwest and say you don't like any pork or beef products. Ridiculous. 

Know what is amazing here? The bakeries. I had no idea that anywhere in the Caribbean you would find such an amazing array of baked goods and donuts and pastries and each one of them more wonderful than the last. Seriously. The picture above is what I had for lunch today after I left the beach. You can't tell it from the picture, but all of that is vegan and made from dehydrogenated seaweed and kale. 

Okay. Not really. Like back in the States, literally nothing in the bakery is good for you, but it is all amazing. And the breads. Don't get me started on the breads. There are entire storefronts that exist here with the sole purpose of distributing long, amazing deliciousness in a paper sack in the form of bread. People walk up and order two, four, or six loaves and walk away with a skip in their step. There is nothing like it. 

What About Infrastructure? Water? Power? Stuff like that?

Anytime you live on an island, anywhere, electricity and running water are more like luxury items. Turning on the tap is less of an anticipation for water than a hope. However, the house we live in has solar power with a Tesla battery, and a backup well for water. So we always have plenty of both. We haven't ran out of either one and based on the landlord's testimony, we never expect to. 

When I think failing infrastructure, my first thought is the roads. The roads are bad. Like, really bad. In the States, when you hit a big pothole that causes your bones to jar and your car to slam down on its leaf springs, you get pissed about it. You know where those are because there might only be one like it in your entire town. You complain. The neighbors complain. It gets fixed. 

In Puerto Rico, there are pot holes that will bottom out your car and bust your tie rods. Not only do they exist. They are everywhere. There are probably two in every hundred feet of road or so depending upon where you are. In other places, they have paved over the old road so many times and left the sewer manhole covers at their original elevations, that they themselves have become foot deep obstacles you can bottom out in, and there are a lot of manhole covers. A lot.  

In some places, the local residents have created a new form of protest by planting plants and small palms in the pot holes. While it is good to know where the big ones are, having small trees in the middle road makes driving even more interesting. 

When the side of a road washes out, it is not replaced straight away. Instead, a large orange cone is set up. When the cone falls into the washout and the road continues to collapse, a concrete barrier is put up along it...on the road. This makes the already narrow roads just wide enough for two professionally trained stunt bicyclists to pass one another, or one tiny car. When two cars pass in these narrows, neither ever yields, and you just sort of have to close your eyes and brace for the impact as you defy physics and squeak through. And these are frequent. 

Stop signs and laws are more like quaint suggestions. If you are travelling in a straight line in the States, rules of the road and the law dictates that you have the right of way. Here, it is the expected norm for anyone turning onto the road to simply pull out in front of you, pause halfway into the lane, and then look before going on ahead. 

But for every time someone pulls out in front of you, someone else will let you go ahead of them when they are driving in a straight line, so somehow, miraculously, it all works, and you actually get used to it. 

The Wildlife

When we first got down here I was expecting to constantly be on the lookout for snakes or tarantulas or scary things we didn't have in Iowa. However, after a week or so you stop even thinking about them as you trudge across a dark lawn to greet the UPS guy in your bare feet. P.S. The UPS guy shows up at like 10pm here after he finishes his business route. 

The things I worried about initially quickly gave way to other things I didn't anticipate. Like, the giant toads. Giant toads are an invasive species that were introduced by our capitalist friends from the American sugar corporations decades ago to eat some other thing they had accidentally introduced that was attacking their sugar cane crops. 

Giant toads rapidly became the scourge of our existence as they setup shop outside our windows at night and make a sound that can only be described as a hundred dying rabbits all screaming in unison. By night three I could have cared less how many tarantulas and snakes I stepped on when I went out clad only in underwear to hunt toads. 

The other thing is dogs. There are a lot of dogs here. When we vacationed here I always wondered why everyone who went for long walks through the towns carried some sort of stick that was more like a war club than a walking stick. It is because of the dogs. They have a tendency to pack up from time to time and bite people, Dogs are a problem here. 

If there is some other downside to the island I haven't mentioned yet, it would have to be the beaches. Why the beaches? Because there are so many amazing beaches you never really want to decide on going to just one of them. This is the quiet beach called Lala where I went this morning here in Rincon. There are prettier beaches, but this is the best one for swimming.  

I hope I've answered some of your questions. Thanks fore reading. We will post again when the photographer gets back from visiting her children and grandchildren in Iowa!

Lorri and Buzz Update: We Made It!

Did you ever have any doubts? No? Well, we sure did. When we hatched our five year plan to move to Puerto Rico, it seemed like a far away dream. Exactly the kind of dreams that are far enough out into the future to allow you some wiggle room to escape them and run back to the safety of mediocrity.

But, events transpired and created a perfect storm to turn a five year plan into a three year plan overnight, and then suddenly, a six month plan. The six month plan was Buzz's last ditch effort to try and apply some thoughtful common sense to the project with the recognition that Lorri would take forever and a week to get rid of her 60 dump truck load clothes collection and the 400 totes she kept squirrelled away in the basement containing what Buzz can only assume to be rock collections, as well as every Kleenex her children ever used growing up, neatly organized by date, color, and affliction types for each child.

Lorri, however, was a woman with a mission and had everything gone in a few short weeks. Before we knew it we were sleeping on mattresses on the floor, and scooping up a dog, a cat, and 8 bags of luggage and heading for an island in the Caribbean. 

We are pleased to report that since having landed here, we have almost entirely furnished the house, bought a car, and Buzz built two outdoor cooking devices. Lorri has her workshop mostly setup, and we finally have new phones and laptops!

Our time has not been without adventures, like the lizard that ran across Buzz's foot on the first morning, causing him to launch hot coffee all over himself and halfway across the living room (tile floors...love em!). The same lizard ran and hid in the bathroom and surprised Lorri while she was sitting on the toilet by leaping out of the sink at her. The writer is not permitted to say what happened next, but let's just say the yellow liquid all over the bathroom floor was NOT coffee. The cat later proved her worth by dispatching said lizard though.

There was also the giant toad who lived outside of our bedroom window and screamed the song of death of 1,000 suffering rabbits at night. He has since been relocated to the rain forest further down the road where he can busy himself keeping the wild pigs awake at night. 

It has been a whirlwind week and we have hit every pothole between our house in Rincon and the stores in Mayaguez and Aguadilla, about 400 times. We will post more photos of the house soon along with another update, but we wanted to let everyone know that we have arrived, are alive, and doing well, and here are a few of the reasons for being in Puerto Rico... 

We call this one 'dominoes no more' because these are the places the old men like to sit

and play dominoes and this one in Rincon has been undermined by the Hurricane Maria.

Among a sea of boxes and Styrofoam, we have one room finished. This was our first one.

The view over Buzz's coffee cup on the back patio in the morning.

Lorri pondering the meaning of life, and wondering how she landed such an awesome husband.

Lorri looking as beautiful as the sunset in the distance.

Sunset from Aguada, PR 10/22/19

Aguada, PR Sunset 10/22/19

Aguada Sunset

Aguada Sunset

View from Anasco restaraunt

Anasco, PR

Here are some artist friends you can learn more about by clicking on the tabs up above! 

Shopping in Mayaguez... it's a lot like driving in Mayaguez. It is the sweetest and kindest little old lady who gets behind the wheel of her car or her shopping cart and will run you off the road or slit your throat for your spot in line. More on the excitement of driving in Puerto Rico later! 

We will leave you for now with a few words from the poet, Henry Herbert Knibbs, called The Sheep and the Goats...

    I don't mind working to earn my bread,

         And I'd just as soon keep straight;

    I've listened to what the preacher said

         About rams and sheep at the gate;

    I like to sleep in an easy bed,

         But I tell you this, old mate:

    A man like me, what you call hobo,

         Can blister and sweat and save

    All his life, and earn just enough of dough

         To prove that he is a slave,

    And have, when it comes his time to go,

         Well, enough to line his grave.

    Say, mate, have you ever seen the mills

         Where the kids at the looms spit blood?

    Have you been in the mines when the fire-damp blew?

         Have you shipped as a hand with a freighter's crew

    Or worked in a levee flood?

   Have you rotted wet in a grading-camp,

         Or scorched on a desert line?

    Or done your night stunt with your lamp,

         Watching the timbers drip with damp

    And hearing the oil-rig whine?

    Have you seen the grinders fade and die,

         As the steel-dust cut them down?

    Have you heard the tunnel-driller's cry

         When the shale caved in? Have you stood by

    When his wife came up from town?

  Have you had your pay held back for tools

         That you never saw or could use?

    Have you gone like a fool with the other fools

         To the boss's saloon, where the strong-arm rules,

    And cashed your time for booze?

   Well, those are the games—I've played 'em all—

         That a man like me can play.

    And this lovely world is a hard old ball;

         And so at the last I took a fall

    To the right and proper way;

   And that is to see all the sights you can

         Without the admission price.

    That's why I've changed to a traveling man,

         With a quilt and a rope and a kind of plan

    Of hitting no one place twice.

   I do no kicking at God or Fate;

         I keep my shoes for the road.

    A long gray road-and I love it, mate;

         Hay-foot, straw-foot, that's my gait!

    And I carry no other man's load.

    For I'm free! Oh, the lowlands by the sea

         To the mountains clear across

    On the other side, they belong to me;

         A man owns nothing unless he's free,

    And I am my own good boss.

   I don't mind working to earn my bread,

         And I'd just as soon keep straight,

    But according to what the preacher said,

         I'm a ram—and I've missed the gate;

    But I'm jogging along, and jogging ahead,

         And perhaps I'll find it, mate.