Rum Diary

We drank our Mojitos, ninety miles north of Cuba.  They were still pretty good.  Our bartender was an older, Hemingway buff.  I like Hemingway too, the only problem was that I already knew the lore.  Someone asked him if he owned the bar.   "No," he responded to my surprise, "too much responsibility and I would never get time off.  I don't own anything, just my boat.  And we live on it".  Okay kindred, sixty-five year old spirit, do continue. 

"I like to travel through the Caribbean.  I'm a rum specialist...". 

I walked over to Nia, who was visibly upset.  She hadn't been picked to play our game.  Before I could say anything, Emily was by my side.  She stroked Nia's head, and then grabbed Nia's arms and wrapped them around herself, in a forced, compassionate hug.  "Thank you, Emily." I responded, still on my feet without even having knelt down, "That is very caring.  I know that Nia will feel better". 

I have a number of succulent plants.  I buy them wherever, re-plant them and treat them as if they are my own children.  I am the succulent whisperer.  I carry them carefully inside and out, making sure they get the optimal amount of sun, enough water, but do not get frozen.  My newest ones lean toward the sun.  I have experimented.  Their fleshy sprouts move, move and shift toward the direction of the light.  It only takes a couple of hours.  I like that they know how to do that. 

I have met heliotropic things before.  They walked toward the sun, but not by choice. 

"I collect balsero stuff," he continued, "I've found all kinds of things, Soviet rations, two by fours nailed together and covered in carpet, stuff you never thought could sail.  Even a wallet, full of Cuban money.  Guess they didn't need it anymore". 

"What have you found the most?" I asked, thinking of my own border relics.  The constant packets of hot sauce in every desert crevice, the shoes, back packs and Pedialyte.  The embroidery.  The wallet I still have, with a Mexican I.D., phone numbers and prayers carefully written on notebook paper. 

"Oh it's just everything.  Anything you can imagine". 

I can imagine a lot.