We were Paranda'd already this year, and I must tell you, it takes the whole Holiday thing right out of you. Three and a half years here and I still don't understand the custom. Let me describe it and maybe you can explain it to me. Here's the procedure.

At midnight, with no warning, {although I do recall now when I think on it that the neighbors had spent the entire day scrubbing down their patios and manicuring their lawns - at the time I just thought they were confused by the weather and thought it was Spring} fifty to a hundred people show up on your front lawn with tambourines, drums, maracas and a lot of other really loud instruments and sing Puerto Rican Christmas Carols. Nothing soothing or soft about them either, just loud and fast.

There's no Little Town of Bethlehem here, or the First Noel. Picture every Carol to the beat of La Bomba and you've pretty much got the idea. No one within a two square mile radius will sleep through it, I assure you.

Then, {and here's the truly frightening part of it all} they expect to be let in to your home to sing some more. You are expected to give everyone food and drinks and it is a party until three in the morning.

We lucked out again this year in one respect at least, our neighbor two houses down, Frank, let them in to his back yard. Which means that they sang into our back bedroom windows all night long. I'm fairly certain he gave them a lot of alcohol because they didn't just stop at three am, they passed out. This is a good thing because it meant that they never made it to our door that night.

A perfect end to a really weird year.

I'm going to recap this rather quickly, so just bear with me. This is the year Dave discovered the local sport of rooster fighting. {It's not your country so just sit on that preachy thought you're having right now on the savagery and all that. At least they don't eat dogs here, OK?} My friend's husband Roque is one of the premier rooster guys on the island and his birds almost always win. Which means that he gets bad odds when he bets. If he wins he wins even, if he loses he pays out a 100 to 1 or something ridiculous like that. Well, the locals know Roque, but, a rooster is a rooster, so, if Dave walks in with one of Roque's roosters and gets in on a fight, the odds will be in Dave's favor and everyone will want to bet with him because they will all assume he is just some simple minded gringo with a yard bird and absolutely no idea.

As plans go it has some merit. It makes sense to Dave and Roque in any case. For my part I see it as a sign that we have been here way too long.

Dave and I brought the boat down from Florida this summer. It was great fun right up to the shores of the Dominican Republic. I refuse to elaborate on this one, you'll have to call me if you want more details. Hurricane Erin took the bimini top off in the Turks and Caicos and I'll just leave it at that.

We survived Hurricanes Luis and Marilyn with only minor damage to the nerves.

Dave let me buy a Persian cat. PMS will move mountains on occasion. He named it though, which I don't think was an entirely fair deal. He named her Purrina, {as in dog food}, Purr for short. The guys in the office were merciless when they found out he paid money for a cat. It became a metaphor for dumb. As in, "Geeze, that's almost as stupid as paying money for a cat. - Oh - man Dave, I wasn't referring to you or anything, just a figure of speech."

All three cats, and the dog, have bows and bells on for Christmas. As they jingle about the house and yard we explain to Jon-Jon that if it does indeed "snow" on our house this Christmas, we will be very rich people indeed.

Tropical Greetings from the pseudo-third world.

Love,

Cindy, Dave, Lauren and Jonathan

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_{12/20/2008 10:33:34 AM}