Seeking the Lost

I watched the ball sail over the wall. The wall had a variety of different broken beer bottles pointed upward, jaggedly saying, "Keep out." And keep us out it did. We were like the kids from the Sandlot dealing with "the beast"...  We went around to the front. The neighbors gate was locked. They would not answer our corporate pleas for help. And the ball was just barely out of reach. We tried a broom. No dice. We tried a broom tied to a dust pan with an extended waist high handle to get the ball. And it touched...  But it just was not enough. One of the kids pulled a two-by-four from a construction site...still, not enough. We went back to the foundation dejected, and ball-less.

The ball in question was a soccer ball. The guilty party who sent the ball sailing over the wall was me. Of course this occurred after I had pled with a boy to share his ball with us so that we could just play soccer. The boy finally relented and let us use his ball...only to watch the gringo send it to never never land.

This was not the first time I have been a part of balls going where they are not supposed to go. In fact I have a long history of being involved in this practice. It happened regularly in my childhood, when Ben and I would play catch. Inevitably, one of us would accidentally throw the ball over the other's head. This would begin a battle of ball tossing, in which each throw would be deposited some where far beyond the "intended" recipient. Oftentimes we would play up to an hour of this type of "catch". But it could have been more aptly called "find" or "look for" since we would be rustling through cornstalks or bushes to encounter the ball. After getting sufficiently coated with scrapes and scratches from a variety of different north west Indiana flora, we would find the ball, and promptly chuck the ball right over the other brother's head.

Or in India, where Lon and I were playing cricket on the roof of their neighbor's house. You haven't lived until you play cricket on a roof in India. It was with great pleasure that I watched from the roof as Lon had to make the walk of shame next door to the neighbor lady who was sick of having the boys next door constantly banging on her door with requests for balls returned. Lon tried to send the kids to get the ball, but they said that she would not return the ball unless Lon went to get it. He went. And she did return it. But not without giving the boys hidden behind his legs a good stare.

Me hitting a cricket touch down. I don't remember the vocabulary.

Lon trying not to face the fact that he was going to have to go and get the ball.

I did replace the soccer ball I kicked over the wall. But the politics of replacing a lost cheap rubber ball are not always simple. I ended up making one kid happy and pissing off the rest (they got used to playing with the soccer ball I purchased as a replacement and were none to happy when the boy finally returned and claimed his prize). I may or may not have received a few 6 year old glares (I probably will buy another ball for all the kids to share, but only after I seek counsel from workers at the foundation due to the complicated nature of 7 year old politics (at least these kids don't shut governments down)).

It said $60 only seconds ago.

Brigitte and I continue on our course of misadventuring our way about Cuenca, lost balls and all. Some of our recent experiences have involved checking out of the supermercado.

Scenario 1. We are at the supermarket doing some Monday shopping. We are buying the essentials such as wine and salami. We get to the check out line and the total comes to $30. We only have $25. We are really embarrassed. Fortunately it is only Monday afternoon and nobody is breathing down our necks. Nevertheless we are flustered. The cashier patiently deducts a few items from our pile o' groceries and we call it a day. We walk out...and say to each other "let's not let that happen again!" We kept the wine and salami.

Scenario2. We are at the supermarket doing some typical post 3D movie watching Saturday night shopping. We are getting into it. Soap? Yup, we need it. 20 tomatoes for some pasta? Check. Wine and salami? Of course. Brigitte jokes as we approach the check out line, "I don't think we have enough money." We laugh. The total is $60. We have $30. This time it is prime time. The line is large behind us. Brigitte turns red. Collective sweats break out. I start giggling the classic "Bucher doesn't know what to do right now" giggle. We start pointing at random things and shouting, "Cabbage...we don't need the cabbage!" and "TP...we can get by a week or two!" After an eternity of probably only one minute we miraculously and magically (actually it was more due to the cashier holding our hands and saying "that is the expensive stuff") were able to reduce our cost to $30. And that is the picture you see above. We kept the wine and salami (OK, we returned the salami...but doesn't is sound better to say we kept them both?).

The reason we have now experienced this twice is mostly because we do not carry our debit or credit cards with us and we are not the best at math. Better said, I am not that good at math. So we have had  all the horror of not having enough money to pay with the knowledge that we actually do...it just is not on us at the time. We thought about trying to explain this to the cashier...and decided it would be hard enough to explain in English let alone in Spanish. We are at peace though that we may have entertained none to few Ecuadorians.