March 14, 2025

Friday

This week has been a challenge for several reasons, but mostly because I am experiencing some annoying and troubling pain in my wrists and finger joints. Feet, too, to a lesser extent. It’s really hard to enjoy life or concentrate on work when you hurt.

It’s worse when you have no idea why this is happening. I’m hoping it’s not related to the tick bite on my fall trip to Maine.

Anyway, I managed to finish a non-fiction piece for a blog publication series called Tell Me Your Story on author Donis Casey’s website. I wrote about how Barbie dolls influenced my writing, hopscotching through my development as a storyteller. I believe this piece is coming out on the 20th, and I’ll let readers know when it’s up, but in the meantime, the most recent one by Penny Orloff was fun to read. Link: Tell Me Your Story

Night Market at Chamorro Village

Line dancing at the Chamorro Village hall; a traditional latte stone; lots of BBQ vendors and food trucks; sweet juice drinks for sale; fiesta plate with red rice, pork belly, noodles, and shish kabob.

We hit the night market at Chamorro Village on Wednesday evening. There are cement market stalls for pop-up vendors, food trucks, and (open during the week as well) gift shops. C and I went early at 4:30 before the market officially opened at 5:30. We wandered around as the vendors and food trucks set up, heavy smoke billowing from the BBQ grills behind or next to the trucks.

We visited a couple of gift shops and purchased some items made in Guam. You really do have to ask to make sure, as, like at all outdoor fairs and markets everywhere, there are also trinkets for sale that are mass produced in other places. Some carved, wooden objects are designed here but produced in Indonesia or the Marianas Islands because, one vendor explained, “Guam doesn’t have enough of the wood here.”

I believe the wood referred to is the ifit tree or “beach mahogany, and I’m skeptical about this explanation. Perhaps there isn’t enough for mass-production, but I will be looking for artisan work while we live here.

We did purchase two handmade wall-hangings and talked to the actual artists who use wood-burning techniques to make signs, jewelry, and other objects. (Now I’m looking at the bag and see my three pairs of earrings didn’t get put into the bag. Sigh.)

Tarague Beach

On Sunday, we got ourselves up and out early and made our way to Tarague Beach on the north side of the island at the Andersen Air Force Base. Only one other person was there as the morning weather offered intermittent showers and sun. For forty-five glorious minutes, I sat in my beach chair while looking at the sparkles on the water and sipping coffee from my Flagler College travel cup. Ah, peace!

Beyond the sparkles, masses of clouds and trailing rain drifted along the horizon. The wind changed direction, and dark clouds heavy with rain advanced toward us at a rapid pace. We quickly gathered our things and ran for the car. C had been in the water and was already soaked. I only got a little wet. By the time we drove back the long, winding, uphill road to the gate, the sun was out again.

Along the way, I recognized the pandan trees with their bent, sharp-pointed leaves and hanging, globular fruits that look like carved chunks. I’d just looked them up because I noticed one near our apartment complex. Turns out, this is the pandan used for flavoring rice, stews, deserts, and drinks, giving these dishes the distinctive Gumby-green color.

Guam continues to be a delightful experience for the most part. Hopefully this pain in my hands will resolve itself. I’m gonna need my fingers in order to get these books and stories written. Outside world news is troubling and does dampen our mood here, adding some unnecessary stress to what is naturally a bit stressful. Living overseas, I feel a bit untethered and insecure as norms and agreements are being ripped to shreds hither, thither, and yon with little to no warning, leaving people reeling and/or in limbo.

It’s especially hard to know that some of our fellow Americans have little or no empathy or sympathy for what others are being PUT through, deliberately. The disruption to their lives. The pain and upheaval brought on, not by their own actions and decisions, but by cynical forces at play, deliberate and mean-spirited and spastic. Like those shifting rain clouds racing in and out again, unpredictable and changeable, soaking everything before moving on.

But we persevere and hope for the best. Now off to work on Strawberry Moon some more…