Rodney Dodig

I’m sitting out on the patio at my friends Mona and Kelly’s house figuring it’s time to update the webpage. I have struggled trying to find time to put words to the page while I’ve been back in the US. Everyone I know wants to spend some time with me. Not time at a party, but individual time, spent in a moment in which we can relive the good times from the past on a more personal level. I want this too, but there are only so many hours in so many days and I have frittered away some of those precious minutes trying to get some business accomplished while I’m here. It’s been a rush from one place to another, one home to another, one lunch or breakfast to another. I like having my time occupied here but I have come to realize that I am not going to make it to see every person I wanted to. Sadly, those visits will have to be put off till next year. Of course, they are all welcome to visit me in Peru.

My friend Amanda recently updated her blog with a day visit to the countryside. She felt the need to leave the city and enjoy the quiet clean life that can escape you in the Lima. Southern Illinois doesn’t have any cities. The rare large town, in my opinion, is all that exists here. Carbondale, my home before moving to Peru, is a good example. The population is around 25,000 with another 20,000 students who attend the University there. Certainly nothing like Lima with a population of 9,000,000 crowded into it’s walls. I can see what she means though. Sitting here on the patio writing this, it’s a beautiful day. A breeze floats through the air with the chill of winter on its breath. The sun’s rays beat down on my skin, warming the skin on my arms and causing a glare on my screen as I type. It’s quiet yet noisy. A wind chime tinkles in the background. Leaves rustle before falling to the ground as the slight breeze sways the boughs back and forth. The colors of fall surround me. Golds, greens, browns, blacks, grays and many more take on an unnatural beauty as they reflect the autumn light. Everything twinkles as if they are coated with small diamonds. The smoky smell of wood fires reminds me of camping, smores, roasting hot dogs and marshmallows. I have picked the perfect month to return for a visit. Still, I miss my Lima. I miss the bustle of her millions, the noise, the colors, the grey of her winter, the brightness of her summer, the Pacific lapping at her shores. I want to feel her wrapped around me, a blanket of comfort. She is my mistress, always exciting, always changing, a book with never ending stories.

Since floating south after the Sorghum Festival, my friends have kept me busy. Breakfasts and lunches dominate most of my time but there are a few things that I need to mention separately. My first weekend in Marion, my friend Cyndi invited me to a Saluki Football game. It was home-coming weekend and although the team isn’t that good this year, a lot of old students came back into town for the game. I went for a small walk through Carbondale’s arboretum with Tim and Deb one day. Mona and Kelly threw a nice party for me at their home. It started at three in the afternoon on a day that allowed us to sit outside. Somewhere between twenty-five and thirty people showed up. They were friends, acquaintances and coworkers. I enjoyed my time with them all immensely. There was enough time to catch up with everyone and more importantly invite them all to visit me in Peru if they have the chance. Mona laid out a spread fit for a King’s Court and Kelly had the lawn and patio area set up. They brought out heaters to warm us up as the chill of the night air set in and as always, people gathered in the kitchen to catch up and graze on the plethora of food that occupied all the counters. I hated to see it end and there were others I wish had made it to the party but hopefully I will see them another time. The next day a golf outing with Robert, Kelly and Joe was humorous to say the least. I hadn’t played in almost four years, bad knees kept it from being too much fun, but this time I had a blast. My score is meaningless as it was all about spending a beautiful day on a nice course with good friends. Thank you Robert for setting it up and to you Lisa for the delicious lunch afterwards.

As I stated, I have found little time for writing. It doesn’t mean that I haven’t thought about it though, and my friends continually ask me about the progress of my book. My characters visit me at all times of the day and night. They occupy my dreams, my conversations, and my mind perpetually floats into plot and character development. Some of my friends are interested in Lourdes, some in Detective Rodriguez, and then there are the Tacito fans. Everyone loves a good villain, just look at Hannibal Lector. I have managed to work on a couple of chapters but that’s it. When I get back to Lima, I am going to have to return to my regular routine quickly. I want to get this first edit completed. I know I’m going to have to go in for a second round on the book. The comments I have received from Tim and Deb tell me that I need to work on my dialog. It’s too formal and I already had a feeling that I was going to have that problem. It’s been so long now since working on the book, I am going to have to re-read chapters 1 – 80 to get my groove back.

Six more days and I return to Peru and my family and friends there. I will miss everyone here in the US terribly but I have a great life in South America. One that is free of stress, a life of creativity and the pursuit of my passions. I could enter into a discussion of what a wonderful life I’ve had and how it continues to get better but I will save that for another day. Special thanks to my Sister Rita and her husband George, Mona and Kelly, and Mike Daily for putting me up this visit. My next entry will be after I’ve returned to Peru, sometime after November 1^st, in the meantime have a great time and embrace your inner child.

The crowd filtered in, the largest in years according to some. They started arriving early in the morning. Terry, known for his butter bean soup and chili and Uncle Ed to run the sorghum cane press plus a host of cousins to help were the first. It took a crew to run the sorghum juice through the trays till the finished syrup came out. It was a hot sweaty job shared by family and friends. George had cleaned the pans the day before with the help of his daughter Amy. Everything was ready to start making the sweet sorghum syrup. They handed out free bottles to everyone who attended the Sorghum Festival.

Abel stood at the apple press watching the kids toss the ripe fruit into the bin. The squeal of the crank as each of the children took a turn crushing the apples, getting them ready for the press sang out through the crowd. Then Big Jake would take the pulp and press it till the juice flowed like a river into the tin pan. After that it was ready to be strained through the muslin cloth. They poured the juice in the cooler, the line of people marched forward, each filling their cup with the sweet apple nectar.

The women brought deserts. Gooseberry pie, pumpkin rolls, sweet sorghum cookies and cake were just a few on a table that stretched like a sugarcoated road to the edge of the edge of the woods. Terry had a peach cobbler baking under the coals that cooked his famous Butter Bean Soup and Chili, recipes that he refined every year. Kids swirled through the crowd of adults. They played games of imagination, games long forgotten by the adults as they patted the children on the head in passing.

“How cute,” was the common refrain.

Potted mums dotted the wooded area. They sat on top of bales of hay, on tables and the ground. Scarecrow figures with friendly smiling faces adorned sheaths of sorghum stalks and trees. A small bonfire burned, ready for roasting hotdogs or marshmallows. Folding chairs and picnic tables littered the woods as the sun’s rays burned through the breaks in the leaves. They dotted the forest floor with a quilt of light. Fall leaves danced to the ground in a ballet of flight. Reds, golds, greens, oranges and purples all glittered. The sunlight creating sparkling gems from the dead leaves. A breeze whispered through the trees and spread the hickory-flavored smoke. The smell reminded me of bacon and egg breakfasts in the warm loving kitchen of my grandmother.

Missy came in from the sorghum fields fresh from cutting the cane that fed the press. She plopped down across from me and said, “I really want to work with snakes.” I had never met her before.

“You know, the ones in the Amazon,” she said. Then she pulled up her sleeve and showed me a bite from a diamondback rattler.

“I learned how to apply a tourniquet,” she said. “Then, you take your knife and make two slits before you suck the poison out.” Her stammer made it hard to understand her.

“I ain’t afraid of snakes but my Dad is,” she said.

Missy was a girl child in a young woman’s body. She told me she knew four words in Spanish and three in French. She never did tell me what they were.

“I work two jobs. One is Monday to Friday and the other is on the weekends,” she said. “I want to go to Paris but it’s too far from Albion. I worked on a farm for a while. I loaded bales of hay onto a wagon. I’m strong for a girl. Look at my pecks.”

Taken aback a little at the request, I still hadn’t gotten a word in edgewise. Suddenly, two little girls popped up next to her. A fiery little red head and a blonde named, Blair. They couldn’t have been more than 6 years old. Blair was Missy’s cousin.

“Will you open some peanuts for me Missy, pleeease!”

Missy set about freeing up some peanuts from their shells for the precious little girl. I sat and listened to Missy talk for the next hour. Then just as suddenly as she had plopped down in front of me, she stood up and left. Thinking back on my day at the Sorghum Festival, the conversation with her was far and away the most interesting.

The rest of the day was a blur of meeting people for the first time, trying to catch precious moments with my camera and helping whereever I could. Late in the afternoon, I headed back into town. I’m not used to socializing with that many people. It can be a bit overwhelming at times. By the time you read this I will be in Marion, trying to reconnect with friends and taking care of some business. It’s going to be a very busy month for me, one which I will thoroughly enjoy.

As I walked off the plane, Lourdes and Rodriguez said goodbye and promised I wouldn’t hear from them for a few days. Even Tacito folded himself into a corner of my brain and swore that he would behave. I said, “Hasta luego,” to the cabin crew of American Airlines flight 1955 and headed to the baggage pick up area to claim my luggage and meet my sister, Rita. It felt good to be back in the States. For a few days before leaving Peru, I was in the phase where I regretted my decision to travel back. All the packing, the inconvenience of the airports, shuffling between family and friends, it was all too much. However, the minute I cleared the corner and saw my Sister, all that faded away. We hugged and grabbed my bag, the second one to come out of the carousel, and headed to the car. Unfortunately, she had taken her car in for routine maintenance and they were going to have to keep it over night. This meant we were going to have to drive back across Illinois from Albion to St. Louis Missouri to pick up her car the next day! So, we were back we came with only 3 hours sleep for her and 6 for me to pick up the car.

Late that night, my niece Amy, her husband David and their two boys, Grant and David, arrived. The next morning I was treated to the active imagination of my two grand nephews. They had the lounge chair, one of those that help the elderly to stand, and were using it as a space ship. They offered me a ride and guaranteed that there were no meteors or aliens to worry about; I would be very safe.

“Hop on Uncle Rod, lift off will be in one minute.”

Shortly afterwards they were zooming around the room on some other fantastic adventure involving Tae Quan Do kicks, light sabers and Civil War Rifles. It’s been a long time since I have been in the presence of that much energy. Amy, David and I discussed how it’s wasted on youth when you really need it when you’re older. At that moment, Lourdes, my reporter, peaked around the corner of my brain and said, “I never want one of those.” At first, I didn’t know if she meant a kid or a space ship. She quickly clarified, “kid!”

Having survived my trip into space, it was time for all of us to head out to the farm and help set up for the sorghum festival. The two days I have been here, the weather has been beautiful. Warm, no clouds with a beautiful blue sky and the colors of fall beginning to show everywhere. It’s a photographer’s dream. I just hope that it lasts. We spent the day getting everything ready. Large crowds were expected the next day and everything had to be perfect. Afterwards I headed in to town to catch up on my e-mails and do a little reading. Tomorrow would be party time.

Back in the USA, Family, Talking about the Book, Writing

As I walked off the plane, Lourdes and Rodriguez said goodbye and promised I wouldn’t hear from them for a few days. Even Tacito folded himself into a corner of my brain and swore that he would behave. I said, “Hasta la juego,” to the cabin crew of American Airlines flight 1955 and headed to the baggage pick up area to claim my luggage and meet my sister, Rita. It felt good to be back in the States. For a few days before leaving Peru, I was in the phase where I regretted my decision to travel back. All the packing, the inconvenience of the airports, shuffling between family and friends, it was all too much. However, the minute I cleared the corner and saw my Sister, all that faded away. We hugged and grabbed my bag, the second one to come out of the carousel, and headed to the car. Unfortunately, she had taken her car in for routine maintenance and they were going to have to keep it over night. This meant we were going to have to drive back across Illinois from Albion to St. Louis Missouri to pick up her car the next day! So, we were back we came with only 3 hours sleep for her and 6 for me to pick up the car.

Late that night, my niece Amy, her husband David and their two boys, Grant and David, arrived. The next morning I was treated to the active imagination of my two grand nephews. They had the lounge chair, one of those that help the elderly to stand, and were using it as a space ship. They offered me a ride and guaranteed that there were no meteors or aliens to worry about; I would be very safe.

“Hop on Uncle Rod, lift off will be in one minute.”

Shortly afterwards they were zooming around the room on some other fantastic adventure involving Tae Quan Do kicks, light sabers and Civil War Rifles. It’s been a long time since I have been in the presence of that much energy. Amy, David and I discussed how it’s wasted on youth when you really need it when you’re older. At that moment, Lourdes, my reporter, peaked around the corner of my brain and said, “I never want one of those.” At first, I didn’t know if she meant a kid or a space ship. She quickly clarified, “kid!”

Having survived my trip into space, it was time for all of us to head out to the farm and help set up for the sorghum festival. The two days I have been here, the weather has been beautiful. Warm, no clouds with a beautiful blue sky and the colors of fall beginning to show everywhere. It’s a photographer’s dream. I just hope that it lasts. We spent the day getting everything ready. Large crowds were expected the next day and everything had to be perfect. Afterwards I headed in to town to catch up on my e-mails and do a little reading. Tomorrow would be party time.

As a writer, I am required to pay more attention to my surroundings. The way people react to situations, the way they talk to each other, their responses to external stimulus, the words and gestures they use, and much more are all-important. They help a writer to mold his story whether it is fiction, a biography, a fairy tale or any other form of the craft. In my present novel, I have one of my characters flying a plane to various cities in Peru in search of his victims. I imagine, much like me, he enjoys staring out the window of the plane he is piloting. Watching the scenery, the clouds and letting his mind drift lazily from thought to thought. Once a plane is in the air, the course set in and autopilot engaged, there is little else for the pilot to do. I on the other hand have much more to entertain me as a passenger in a jet flying home to visit friends and family.

A plane has its own special set of noises. The wind roaring past, the engines humming outside the window, the hiss of the air conditioning exiting the vents are on every plane I have flown in. Passengers on these flights also have their predictable noises. The perpetual low hum of conversation, it’s just barely below the level where I can understand them. The groans when the pilot announces a delay in takeoff. The gentle snore of others as they sleep in gentle bliss. Then there are the children. The older ones with no sense of adult decorum, they chatter loudly, thrilled to be going somewhere, anywhere. Curious and alert they stare about the cabin wanting to know everyone. The babies, only aware of mom or dad’s loving embrace, of pain and hunger: they usually cry loud and often. They can’t understand equilibrium, middle ear, altitude o none of the rest. All they want is for the pain to end. Of course there are fussy babies, plain and simple, but, the passengers don’t care. They twist in their seats, give the parent an evil look and mutter about age limits.

I’m sitting on a plane now, enjoying all the above except for the crying baby. I’m not sleepy and I thought it would be a good time to start an entry for my webpage. So, a crying baby wouldn’t really bother me now anyway. I need to keep all these sensory images stored away for future use in case my detective or he fearless reporter decide to take a trip. It will make for good images in what might otherwise be a boring paragraph.

Taking a trip or a vacation always elicit a duality in me. First, I am excited and looking forward to the adventure or seeing family and friends. Then, I dread it. The packing, missing friends and family, the waiting, the lines, the documents, it’s all so boring and bothersome. Back and forth I go, vacillating, bouncing up and down till I am actually en route. The two exaggerated states then collide and what ensues is a sort of combination of the two until I arrive at my destination. After that, the excitement takes over until the packing has to start again.

Right now, I sit here in my exit row seat imagining Lourdes Velasquez in the seat next to me. Her subtle perfume, an exotic citrus scent with a hint of rose, tickles my nostrils. Her shapely legs crossed, notepad open as she types in points for her next newscast. She glances at me with her dark seductive eyes and gives me the faintest hint of a smile. Noticing the words on my screen as I type, she asks, “Are you a writer?”

“Yes,” I answer.