May 25, 2020

My last blog entry strayed away from my perceived notion of recounting the years, but I needed that as an up-lifting thing for my infant soul… it is cranky these days. I recounted stories from the 4th and 5th years of travels. Somewhere in the manic writing season Dr. B-Rad dropped a dime and a few words of wit on this Portal… cannot wait for another one of his rants. In truth I have been writing these posts for the last two weeks so that I could get B-Rad to vet them… correct my grammar… spelling and dyslectic incomplete thoughts. Big shout out to him for all his time spent on this as well… It has been an adventure trying to remember all these things, I hope no one feels left out if I have not mentioned you in a specific way. (At least not yet) It has always been a joy working together on these trips.

One… Two… Three… Four!

From our experiences of past trips, we soon realized that we needed to be more specific in what we would ‘prefer’ to do and make the arrangements… monetarily and talent… far enough in advance to ensure we had enough work to keep everyone busy during the trip.

We embarked on quite a large project at La Montanita that year. Remodeling an existing community building… Raising the roof on the block party! The team of veterans consisting of Jefe, Mater, Marco, B- Rad, Que pasa, Rogaine, Hondo and several rookie additions… Wanda AKA Quanda, Casey AKA KC and Kalin.

“They say there are strangers who threaten us
Our immigrants and infidels
They say there is strangeness to danger us
In our theaters and bookstore shelves
That those who know what’s best for us
Must rise and save us from ourselves

Quick to judge
Quick to anger
Slow to understand
Ignorance and prejudice
And fear walk hand in hand”

Moving Pictures, 1980, Peart

Following my normal tract of ‘memories’ from this journey there were several significant events, places and events embedded to the ole noggin… again rather than rehash the ‘Construction Phase’ of the project… (I think those are still on the ‘new’ Federation blog site… you can research it for those Easter eggs). So I will let that dog lie on its own merit. It does bear mentioning that this was our 3rd trip to this region… A wonderful community to serve and in those trips, we have made several new friends along the way. One was a young man named Jose… I have a strong presumption that is a pretty ‘common’ name around those parts. He befriended the entire team on this trip. He was… maybe a little challenged in the mental facilities area and vertically as well… but man! Nothing stood in the way of Jose winning our hearts. He was bullied by his neighbors, they often they laughed at him… sometimes for no reason, but it did not faze him one ounce. If we needed some materials… such as block or mook from the Deathtrap 3000, he would literally come running to help us. To repay him for his efforts, we often packed extra food and always shared it with him. At the end of the trip we gathered at the school as the community wanted to express their gratitude to us for all the work we had done for them along the way… We had a plan ourselves… Once the community was done showering us with accolades, we called Jose up to join with us and presented him a gift… As Jose came forward to a resounding ‘soccer chant’, “Jose… Jose Jose Jose… Jose.” Presenting him with a national soccer jersey, which he put on immediately. For me, the most gratifying thing was… all the people in the community that came to honor ‘us’, especially those that mocked Jose saw that we ‘honored’ Jose. Our point was to show them that he was worthy, despite his limitations. Certainly, one of the many great highlights of the trip… but there were low points along the way.

Along came Molly… Jefe’s pet tapeworm seemed to have been agitated from the heat or excessive sunlight… Not sure that one is possible while ‘Shade Squatting” most of the day on the job site. The site of the infection drew great concern from many of the team and it was determined that we would take him to the local clinic for examination. Mater and I carried him into the ‘Women’s Clinic’. Eventually he was cleared for the injured reserve list… although there was some concern with the pap smear results.

Collectively as a group we had decided to start taking a ‘day off’ at some point during our trip(s). Sometimes we would visit a historical place such as the Mayan Ruins in Copan, or a side trip to the beach for the day… or exploring the water falls at Pulhapanzak. Some of the team ventured ‘behind’ the falls, some zip lined across the falls, others, such as me just sat in the cool of the shade… not shade squatting, that is only done when there is ‘work’ to be done. Being a collector of the oddities… I was on a side mission on this trip, to collect one bottle and one can of the four Honduran beers. While everyone was ‘playing’, I found a rare and old bottle of Salva Vida at the grill. Daniela said that it was at least 20 years old because the label was printed with ink, not the paper label type. I bartered with the attendant and settled on a price… bought the souvenir and checked a box. After everyone changed out of their wet clothes, we headed for a quaint restaurant nestled in the hills overlooking the largest inland body of water in Honduras.

Apparently, we had been targeted during our trip that day, while sitting in the restaurant our tour bus was broken into… all the personal items, effects, the iPod of DOOM, the substance of bogarting (Beef Jerky) and my bottle of beer were taken! Nothing makes you feel more violated than to be a victim of robbery! Not that I considered that bottle to be of more worth than anything else that was stolen, it is a matter of principal and a commandment; “Thou SHALL NOT steal.” Bummer day, but in the end we the team were safe and accounted for. The ride back to the compound was long and depressing… several people were on the phone contacting loved ones back home… making arrangements to ‘cancel’ credit cards and things of that nature! Ammm says the infant soul within. During that ride Maynor and Mario were extremely concerned that the bandits may be waiting for us along the route to finish collecting the rest of our personal belongings. Our resourceful driver took a long, less likely traveled route back to the Federation compound for our protection and safety. Lessons learned are often difficult and painful along the journey of life, but for sure it teaches you not to become complacent in life… for it will certainly come back to bite you at some point.

A DOOM-less second half of the trip was more depressing than the ear-splitting music than poured from B-Rads custom amp/speaker set up that he constructed over the years to provide, “maximum penetration” as he always touted. (Wisp of a smile for the infant soul on that one). No Doom, but still plenty of entertainment to go around… someone in the community allowed Casey to commandeer their dirt bike… Oh the madness… the fear in Jefe’s eyes… as Casey rode fearlessly and foolishly, never a dull moment with this group of Gringos. In the end it was a great adventure, yes there was a large hiccup along the way, but even at that, we have not been deterred nor scared away by that dark day on the hillside… maybe in and thru it all… it strengthened our resolve even more. Until we gather… via virtual or reality… Blessings.

Marco Francisco Valle Valle

May 24, 2020

I’m switching it up tonight, departing from Marco Francisco’s familiar song title for blog title formula.  Peart’s passing in January hit him hard, and in a way, I think this blog series is his way of paying respects.  I think it’s also helped calm his clamor of thought during a time we would’ve all considered unimaginable just a few short months ago.  It’s a beautiful thing, really, what Marco has done with this series.  Ironic, isn’t it?  The Honduras blog kept while we’re not even in Honduras might be his best work yet. 

I’d be remiss if I hadn’t taken time to reflect.  The past few months, if nothing else, have allowed us all ample time with just our thoughts.  I hope our team members from years past grace the sphere with their eyes again, even if just one more time, to maybe let their minds wander back through the years and savor the memories they created with us and our brothers and sisters in the land of Hell fire and honey suckle, bloodshed and bodily sacrifice, love and lust.  The land we’ve come to know and love as a second home.   

2020 was going to be our 10-year anniversary tour.  Our very own Decade of Decadence, Honduran Carnage ’round town mashup in Pinajelo and the Quimistan valley.  But instead we’re left with virtual symbiosis.  Film, literature, other miscellaneous pastimes (wet dreams for Buttbeard), petitioning Lionsgate for Children of the Corn III on blu-ray, musings, imaginings and memories.  A mild winter gave way to a cool spring.  Here in the Appalachian foothills our snowstorms never come from the west.  Storms track down the Ohio River Valley but the mountains stop them from crossing over.  Well a few weeks ago a rain came at midnight.  Que Maiden’s 2 Minutes to Midnight.  One inch fell from the heavens, and guess where it tracked?  Straight down the Ohio River Valley.  Sometimes these truly feel like the last days.  The end times.  

The bees are dying.  Locusts are swarming East Africa.  Cyclones are slamming India and Bangladesh.  Forget the black market, there’s a “red market” now… blood smuggling.  Like Twain said… no fiction is stranger than reality.  The dinosaur stood at the podium and addressed the other dinosaurs… “the picture is bleak, gentlemen…”

I digress.      

How about we que a happier song?  “Memories” by Maroon 5.  “The drinks bring back all the memories of everything we’ve been through…”  (Ugh!)

I’m always surprised by the degree of detail Marco can recount when recalling stories from the past.  For example, I’d forgotten about the young fellow peddling funnel cakes by Gloria’s.  And the lemonade flavoring going in the water we flushed down to Hunter… I thought someone actually pissed in that pipe. And the depositions taken after the scorpion incident. I don’t remember Madison acting as a witness at all. Marco is the exception, because memories are rarely about the details.  Recall what the memory maker said in Blade Runner… They all think it’s about the detail, but that’s not how memory works.  We recall with our feelings.  Anything real should be a mess.

We all move through life at a different pace.  Some people drift through it effortlessly. Others navigate it like sasquatch tromping through mud.  And so it’s natural that memories are made for different people in different ways.  Life is a series of moments strung together in succession on a string – some bright, some dull.  Some we’d rather forget, but memories don’t work that way.  We take them with us.

I’m going to spend some time going through my mess of a memory… the ones I don’t want to forget.  

Charlie Pace knew his fate days before his death.  He knew he was going to drown in the Looking Glass, so he spent his final days looking back at his life and writing down what he described as his “greatest hits;” the moments in his life that rung louder than the others, shone brighter, and helped define who he was as a person.  The moments that meant the most to him.  Some memories are ghosts that haunt us forever, others are beacons that give us hope for the future.  Like anything else, we take the good ones with the bad ones.  Those of us who drift through life on wings, effortlessly, might have a string so profoundly and beautifully woven it would be difficult to point out the brightest threads.  By comparison, some bands have discographies so strong that the attempt to compile a greatest hits album is an insult to the discography.  Iron Maiden, for instance.  Or I’m sure Marco would point to Rush.  Other bands have highs and lows in their dark dungeons of pleasures, which I might find more relatable.  Celtic Frost, for instance.  It’s an interesting exercise, compiling greatest hits.  For every To Mega Therion there’s a Cold Lake.  For every Ain Elohim a “Petty Obsession.”  Then there’s Monotheist, the kind of firework show we all dream about going out on.

Music has always been one of our group’s cornerstones.  So in the spirit of keeping the continuity, here are some of the defining and most treasured moments I’ve shared with my Honduran comrades over the years.  The closest I can come to a “greatest hits.”

I’m going to go through these the best I can, in the time that I have. Bear with me comrades while I try to keep the salt from my eyes. 

10. The ’01 Corolla breaks down in front of Bojangles

Now, before you say, “but that wasn’t in Honduras!” yes, you are correct, but I’m counting it anyway because it was the calamity that kicked off our first Honduran venture and sent us scrambling like squirrels chasing nuts to get our **** together just to make it to the airport.  Bear in mind that our only previous international mission was to Guatemala the year prior, and that venture was wrought with misfortune from start to finish, with the occasional calamity thrown in for good measure (Volcano Pacaya erupting on May 27^th, Tropical storm Agatha chasing its coattails a few days later).  That’s on top of the lesser misfortunes, like Muscle Tech’s toe fungus, Jim destroying the toilet in the roach motel, Chris’s bed bug issues, Dane AKA Frans being electrocuted in the shower, yours truly vomiting up a bloody mary in the streets of Antigua in oncoming traffic, etc.  So really it’s a testament to our fortitude that we even considered a sophomore venture.  But Uncle Sam came calling and we couldn’t tell him no.  And before we even reached PTI we were sure we were destined for yet another ill-fated expedition when, at two ‘o clock in the morning on the way to the airport my car broke down rounding a U-turn off the Lewisville/Clemmons exit, causing complete engine and steering failure.  Hans, Frans and I flagged down a cop.  One cop turned into twenty cops in about five minutes.  And with their help, along with Jefe, Mater and Muscle Tech, we pushed my car into the Bojangles parking lot and left it for AAA.  Hans, Frans and I somehow crammed into Narnie’s mini along with the other five.  And we rode to PTI Honduran style… eight gringos + luggage + a couple tubs of toothpaste in a minivan.    
Viva Honduras!  Viva America!     

9. Jennifer Call gives Stan the Man a wild time on the pila

The particular details of this bizarre episode elude me.  Marco Francisco or Senor Mater may be in a better position to offer some insight into the confluence of events that incited this debauchery.  The horses in the pasture had already smelled the roses.  Love was in the air.  And in the delirium of the day, and by that, I mean the suffocating heat from the hell oven of the Quimistan valley, along with some likely self-medication, lecherous maledictions and strange adjures were uttered over the side of the pila makeshift charity jacuzzi.  Mater and Hans gave pause nearby, observing the transpiring events on their freshly constructed mook shrine.  Stan the man bent over, reaching for the plug at the bottom… to drain it.  He pulled the plug.  And alas!  A new plug went in!  J Call with the win!  The final touch in consecrating the holy pila juccuzi on the hallowed ground.  We have oft visited the property in years following, celebrating the shrine’s apparent resistance to the desecration that has surely befallen it.

[Photographic evidence available upon request]

8. Mater’s 56^th

Mater’s b-day always falls sometime during the trip, since we always book the last half of May.  And his b-day celebrations have brought some of the more memorable moments the trips have had to offer… from moshing with the crazed children in La Montanita to punta dancing in the grand hall after gorging on wet cake (yummy yummy but heavy in the tummy).  That’s right, Mater’s b-days have educated us in traditional Honduran folk dancing.  What the universities would refer to as a “cultural” experience.  Give us Clarence Clemons on sax and we would’ve been the next Youtube sensation.  But the most memorable to me wasn’t even the puntas but the mariachi trio we summoned on the shores of Tela to sing Feliz cumpleanos to a red-faced Mater while the Jamaican girls braided mine and Que Pasa’s hair… Dirk chowed down.  And son of Dirk tried not to get sun burnt.  And our laughing faces radiated brighter than the beaming Honduran sun.

[Video available upon request]

7. Dirk bags the chicken choker

I’ve witnessed some real spectacles but this one just about does all the others one over.  I’d rather voyage the seven seas with Buttbeard and first mate stinky and share Captain Buttbeard’s oatmeal than try and bag Rhinostomus Barbirostris in a ziploc.  That reddish bearded rostrum is the most intimidating thing I’ve ever seen on an insect.  The locals called it the “chicken choker” but further research reveals that it’s a crop killer, not a chicken killer (though I wouldn’t put it past this sinister looking weevil to thrust its gnarly appendage into the throat of a chicken and skewer the life from it).  The locals swore it attacked their chickens.  It also injects fungus into trees, blocking the resin canals that would normally wash out feeding insects, killing the trees it attacks doing so.  Groups of dead trees are a focus for fires, so in this way the bearded weevil is indirectly responsible for forest fires.  The insect of mass destruction.  After consulting with some Nicaraguan friends familiar with the beetle, they call it the ‘Ron Ron’ and claim it urinates acid on their livestock that melts straight through the skin causing infection and death.  So by all accounts, this beetle is the bringer of death to all matters of animal and plant life. 

Enter: Dirk. 

*sets down the beef jerky and picks up a ziploc*  “Chicken choker hur hur Ima goin bag it!”         

“Ammmmmmm!”

6 . Aaron gives his testimony

Our first year in the bush was very much a dipping our toes in the pond – type exercise, and rather than focus on one or two large scale projects, we found ourselves caught up in a mishmash of activities, oft headed up by Scotti Steven’s taskmaster counterpart from Aiken.  I think this was largely due to not having our expert mooker and mason in tow, Marco, as the mooking didn’t begin in earnest until the Mayan death clock struck twelve the following year.  On one day the Wilkesboro crew split up from the Aiken crew and Chris’s ‘rabid dogs’ had a sit down with some local teenage boys at the schoolhouse in La Montanita to discuss alcohol and substance abuse.  All eight of the Wilkesboro party were present.  We sat in a circle and rounded it, introducing ourselves one by one.  Daniella translated to the teens the best he could.  You can imagine the introductions they got… we introduced Muscle Tech son of Mater as the peddler, and we weren’t talking about funnel cakes.  “Muscle Tech… supplements that work!  Muscle Tech’s got you covered!”  The biceps flexed.  The pecs danced like Terry Crews high on Old Spice.  A long round of applause.    

But the laughs died down after some time went by, and Aaron ended up with the floor.  Chris had asked him to prepare something if I recall.  Or maybe the word flowed from him impromptu, I don’t know.  But he reached into the pit of his stomach for the message he delivered, telling us about his own history with drugs and alcohol, and how they had kept him from knowing God and living the life God wanted him to live.  He had to pause after every sentence so Daniela could translate, and it was kinda like that gave him more time to gather his thoughts, because every sentence he spoke was more powerful than the last.  I was struggling with my faith then.  Well, I guess I’ve always struggled with it some, I feel like we all do, but in 2011 I was jaded.  But I felt something stirring in that room that day and I could feel lives being changed.  It was one of ‘those moments’ for me. 

Aaron was going to be on our 2020 venture, by the way, before everything fell apart.  I hope it works out for him in the future. We all do.  Wherever you are in these crazy times, I hope you’re doing okay bro.       

To be continued…

B-Rad,
Former Blogmaster

May 23, 2020

Ok, I am past, over and moving on from the funkiness of my mood for the past few days. It is real, we are not there and that truth has settled in this infant soul. In my wildest imagination or naïve thoughts, I would have never imagined that this ‘pandemic’ would have altered our plans as we pressed forward at a February fundraiser… Nothing I can do to change it, so I must move forward. I have an admission from the heart, I tend to get depressed when we return from our annual trip. Not saying that I am not overjoyed in reuniting with my family, I am… certainly a couple of weeks apart will refresh the soul a bit I suppose. On the other side of the coin… in the years spent in Honduras I have made several great friends in the land of Milk and Honeydew. They are like a distant relative who lives at a great physical distance and would require ‘effort’ when planning to visit. Thus, after a visit with my extended family in the US or Honduras it is sad to depart their company… because you know that another visit requires the same planning, expense, and effort to gather again… feel me?

It’s not a place
It’s a yearning
It’s not a race
It’s a journey

It’s not an act
It’s attraction
It’s not a style
It’s an action

It’s a dream for the waking
It’s a flower touched by flame
It’s a gift for the giving
It’s a power with a hundred names

Vapor Trails, 2002, Peart

Today’s adventures down memory or virtual lane are a bit different than the last couple of entries. I have not skipped or forgotten certain events, times or places… there are many to consume… here is todays offering. Hell Peppers, or as we have come to affectionately know as, ‘Chili El Diablo’, Flem, Scorpion King adventures and his many crowns (as thorny as they are). Each of them has taken a spot in my hard dive of life, the protected sectors that cannot be erased… so hang on for the adventure of Easter egg hunting… Portal style with yours truly.

Our fourth journey found us at Rosa’s home once again after spending the first week at a Federation school digging a Latrine pit and building a new bathroom on the school house. Those guys just love playing in the dirt and removing one hundred-pound boulders from the arid soil. Some of the team worked in the community learning to construct indoor wood burning stove from clay bricks… ‘Justa” (Whoo- sta) stove is the official name in Spanish. Couple of newbies on this trip, Tracey, Grayland AKA Hound dog, Narnie was with us this year… and the regulars as well. We were commissioned to build a small bedroom addition on the back of the Adobe based home. Pretty small project that kept about half of the team busy while the others ventured off building Justa stoves in the community. One morning Senor Jefe returned to our site with a small and inquisitive looking vegetable… a pepper about the size of a tommy toe tomato, but yellow in color. The gauntlet was thrown down! Try it Marco… are you scared? Call me what you what you wish, but chicken is not one of them. Try it they say… you will like it they say! I finally summoned up enough courage to take a small nibble… the initial impact and impression was it was sweet… like a bell pepper, but a slight fore taste of the doom to come. Being one who has a great poker face, I looked at the Jefe, Mater, B-Rad and said, “Not too bad, taste like a bell pepper.” The hook was set, and the line was being drawn in ever so slowly… click… click…click. Simultaneously they agreed to bite into the little pepper… within 3 to 5 seconds the madness began! Everyone had a mouth full of hell’s fury… its pain so sharp you could not spit it out… even if you mustered the strength to open your mouth the sheer terror of having the venomous juice blister your lips! Swallowing was the wiser choice… or so I thought… mas tadre talvez no (Later it would leave a mark). Tears streaming down my face… not so much from the heat, but the expression and reactions from the other guys. B-Rad, gasping for words thru the damnation and fury churning around his incisors… he managed to scream, “That **** should be illegal!” On a hill side far away the birth pangs of torture were born in the ‘Chili El Diablo’ incident.

There is something about the environment found in Honduras… most of the time during our adventures it is hot, well I think it is hot there most of the time being it’s located along the 12th parallel. But it is relatively dry and dusty also. They have ‘Rainy’ seasons typically during (what we call ‘fall’), so for the most part our sinuses take a beating from the red pollen that is constantly stirred up and remaining airborne all the time. Considering the battle between our nostrils results in an excessive amount of drainage for most of us. Jefe carries his Novage bugger scrubber with him wherever he may roam… which includes shade squatting. For the rest of the crew… we hack, cough, and bark up this red tinted substance affectionately know as ‘Flem’. Sometimes the sinuses become so inflamed with the dust… blood mixes with the gooey substance transforming to ‘Bloody Flem’. B-rad and Jefe seem to be affected by this phenomenon more than others, thought I have been affected in years past.

Saving my best for last today, ‘The Adventures of Senor Jefe… The Scorpion King’ As the story goes, and truth is stranger than fiction sometimes… The names and faces have been changed to protect the innocent… no embellishing of this story ever has taken place, but there is a video of the reenactment floating around out there in cyber-land. As office Joe Friday said, “Just the Facts.”

The incident occurred one evening just after zero dark thirty… I was in the shower washing the work off my back and when I came into the room that Jefe, Mater and Hondo shared… (Hondo… always bringing the night light for the guys to sleep comfortably). There arose such a clamor… I saw jefe gasping for breath as he was nestled in the corner of the room… a disheveled grimace upon his face. “What? Happened here?” I asked. Mater began recalling the incident that while they were lying in bed… (worth noting it was separate beds). As he accounts as to, ‘What Happened’? Jerry said, “He was reading his devotional on the evening in question… going on further to say that while Chris was probably surfing the internet… reading fox news highlights or playing candy crush saga”. He happened to glance down and see a scorpion near Jefe’s shoe… “Lakey!” he said, and pointed his finger at the black crustacean on the floor. Without a word, Jefe sprung up from his bead, leapt about ten feet across to Jerry’s bed and began to hysterically scream, “Scorpion! Someone please do not let that thing get me!” (I believe this is a pretty accurate account, because when I was entering into the room he was huddled in that bed and his bed does not have a corner adjacent to it…. Jefe’s account is considerably different than the affidavit given to me, Officer Friday. According to the records in hand, Mr. Jefe stated, “He looked up from his daily reading of ‘Goodpastor.com’ and saw the offending varmint with tail cocked looking to pounce on Mater any second. He affirmed that he did scream to warn Mater of the impending doom, he then jumped from his bed into Mater’s bed to place himself between him and the monster in the floor… offering a moment of sacrificial love to protect him from the creature of darkness”. An act of heroism from one 1/3 to another. Enter in Madison to the equation. Her room was adjacent to the ‘boys’ room and saw firsthand what transpired… She concurred on some points from the given statement but shed light on the truth at hand. She, not Mater or Jefe, killed the scorpion with a shoe as they huddled together on that single bunk! Just so that I could wrap my mind around the entire situation… it was skillfully re-enacted and videoed for a case file that was bound to end as a ‘sealed document’… stored in the same hole that Jimmy Hoffa has been hiding in all these years. As the great theologian Forrest Gump once said, “that’s all I got to say about that.”

So, there you have it folks, the great mystery revealed of how our illustrious and fearful(less) leader received his nickname, Senor Jefe Scorpion King. Shutting the Portal down for a while… until the next posting.

Marco Francisco Valle Valle

May 22, 2020

I am bored…. Not in a literal prose, but in a contextual sense. For one, it is different writing the blog from my home office without sweat dripping from my fingertips as B-Rad and I gather around the kitchen table snacking on ‘Jolly Ranchers’ and the spoils of Americana life… recounting the day’s events in the sarcastic manner as we do… woe is me right? Secondly, I am bored because it is a beautiful day outside and I am confined to my home… I am not sick, not in need of being quarantined as the world has all of us to be, I am not being held captive by some official restrictions, but I am hampered by my chronic foot issues that have been holding me captive (En mi Casa ahortia) for the day in the midst of all its glorious offerings. It would be a great day to do some yard work, but here we are. Fortunately that issue has not arisen in the land of Milk and Honey during our adventures, thankfully. That is the reality of today’s times, but in a virtual realm, I would be sitting at the table of slur writing and preparing the Blog for the Federation Portal.

Year 5 saw a dramatic change in team dynamics. Several longtime associates gathered, but there were several newbies also… My exploits and travel for the prior October ‘sighting trip’ promised new adventures with new opportunities of service. The plan was to build a kindergarten… (A word and theory derived in Germany, commonly used worldwide for young children to begin their educational adventure even earlier in life) just north of San Marcos. Alas, as the Federation’s proliferation with the locals had caused us not to have sufficient work for this trip. None the less, we were still able to make an impact in the small villages that we did visit; electrifying a school in the mountain community of Teo, painting a Federation school just outside of Quimistan and the bathroom addition of a church plant in the Tejerias community. Enough work for just enough people… but still a struggle in the end.

“How many times do you hear it?
It goes on all day long
Everyone knows everything
And no one’s ever wrong
Until later

Who can you believe?
It’s hard to play it safe
But apart from a few good friends
We don’t take anything on faith
Until later”

Presto, 1990, Peart

Writing a virtual blog has its challenges along the way… writing as thought I am there and yet I remain here for the time being. I remember an excerpt from the last book I read from Peart describing his journey of healing after the tragedies that he faced and ultimately suffered in and thru the late 90’s. Along that journey he discovered his, ‘baby soul’ and the things that he needed to nurture it from the torment of grief and how he did things to calm that baby, or as Addie says it, “Bay bay.” I would like to think of my inner soul as an ‘infant’ rather than a baby. For to me the baby part is still in relative relation to meaning as infant, just reminds me that people are acting as babies even in the age of adulthood… Childish at times and sometimes just plain baby like! My infant soul is angry today, maybe colicky… I don’t know what, but I know I am not in a good space internally. I have been working on this post for the second day now, not that I am not motivated, but with the inner turmoil in my spirit it is difficult to compose uplifting words… Ammmm!

Meanwhile… after another break…

Act 2 Scene II

The memories, or personal reflections from this trip include how to ‘steal’ power, bloodletting and monster grasshoppers. We had our usual Mooking affair so no need to go there… apart from watching a couple of rookies… primo mook packers in training at the Federation sponsored school. Lu Lu and Ques Pasa in concert with one another, or as B-rad once coined the phrase, “Two Working As a Team”. (There is an Easter egg in that one if you look hard enough) Mooking… If you have not got it by now… then you never will I presume.

Venturing away from the mooking fiesta at the school and just up and across Highway CA4, several team members are working at the Federation church plant beside the crazy… busy and dangerous road that is the primary transport route between San Pedro Sula and Santa Barbara in north central Honduras. Another latrine pit to be dug for the new bathroom… Much like putting the cart before the horse, eh? “Build it and they come”… when nature calls… where can one go? We are resolving that issue now. Along that journey, we came under attack from huge Kamikaze grasshoppers… (Karate Kid worthy) I have a photo of one of those things that landed on Hunter’s head… a lasting memory. Every time you turned around those pests would jump on you like a spider monkey! More aggravating than dangerous (hopefully). Maybe it is where the ‘Molly planted her Seed’… More on that in the subject in the near future.

While installing the roof on the new bathroom complex, with the traditional razor-sharp tin of course. I warned everyone handling it, “you need to wear gloves!” That must have gone in one ear of Officer Donnie and out the other and made a sonic boom as it left his simple brain. No more than we started installing the tin I heard, “Man that’s going to leave a scar.” Office Donnie lacerated his hand on the first piece of tin and now we are in full triage mode… Sometimes I just feel like my words go unheard… prime example here and now. Got Officer Donnie all squared away, and we completed the roof that day.

It is amazing how resourceful the people are in Honduras, taking the smallest thing in life, such as a 10 gauge piece of wire to bring change… I am not accusing them of being thieves, but after we wired the school with lights and receptacles, we stood at the service panel and questioned how do we turn it on? We had a master electrician on board, his name is Mater aka in his normal life Jerry, the licensed electrician is on the job, but still it was a question of providing the necessary… ‘Spark’ to light this joint up… answer? Jam a piece of heavy wire between the two terminals on the meter base and let ’er rip tater chip. “Let there be light” and with the flick of the switch the preverbal light came on across the community school. There comes a sense of accomplishment in not only completing a project, but seeing the dramatic change it makes in people’s lives. I think that was what has the infant soul a little on edge today… knowing that I am here and not there.

Meanwhile… during the blogging session that evening… Officer Donnie was awarded the prestigious, “AM of the Day” for his efforts to do something extremely noteworthy (or dumb enough) to become the primary target… or softer said primary topic of the daily blog. The trip this year was a good one, many items completed no matter what scale they were measured against… we still made a huge impact in the region.

If you notice the Daily Blog title is the name of the song whose lyrics I have quoted. I only noted the album title, year, and author as to give respect to my inspiration title under the lyrics. I do invite you to search that song out on Youtube, I prefer the live versions, they are so much more surreal because you can see the ‘busyness’ of the three members making such a grand noise and even if you’re not into them, listen to the lyrics and melody, I think you can feel my mood in my choices… My Infant Soul is restless until we gather in the place again… until then or the next post, Have a wonderful evening.

Marco Francisco Valle Valle

May 21, 2020

Redemption… A multi-faceted word bringing hope out of despair, a mulligan in life and who of us does not need our share of it? Tracing our journeys back to the glorious days gone by, we are back in Honduras for another tour of duty. The plan for this year’s adventures leads to another new village for us, most of our travels are new in the early stages. We began a construction project at the home of a lady who by life’s cruel means had been literally kicked to the curb. She lived an Adobe brick home that had been constructed on some family owned land in La Montanita which translates to ‘Little Mountain’. Her story was deep in sorrow and pain, a widow with 2 small children in the house and barely enough food to survive. Their clothes well worn and even tattered and raggedy. No utilities in the house, water/electricity… when the call of nature hits… nature was where it all happened. Tragic… unfortunate… bad choices… there are endless adjectives to describe the plight of Rosa, but our goal was to invite her to travel down this road of redemption.

“They travel on the road to redemption
A highway out of yesterday, that tomorrow will bring
Like lovers and heroes, birds in the last days of spring
We’re only at home when we’re on the wing
On the wing
We are young
Wandering the face of the earth
Wondering what our dreams might be worth
Learning that we’re only immortal
For a limited time”
Roll the Bones, 1992, Peart

The members of this year’s team had changed dramatically from the past few years. The college students that had made up a large portion of those prior teams were now engrossed in Red Sector A, or better known as life and fledgling careers. The core had remained intact, Jefe, Mater, B-Rad, Marco, Que Pasa and Aaron, with the addition of Victoria, Tom and Hunter. Smaller, lighter and more compact team from previous years, that allowed us to be more flexible and diverse. Our task was to construct a bathroom/shower pila combo and remodel the 2-room house. As the blocks arose from the ground appearing like twin towers reaching upwards to the clouds…

Affectionately we began to refer to the structure as ‘Mooktovia’. Concrete Pillars built to the gods of mook… with a sacrificial basin attached.

The diversity of the team begins with our music selection and the artists that were present in the group. Tom and Victoria, both accomplished musicians/singers… entertained the group regularly each evening while we dined on the appetizing local pallet. B-Rad brought the entertainment to the job site…. daily… primarily consisting of eye bleeding artists from the dark metal scene know as… DOOM! His selections of primary choice was DOOM, with the occasional classic metal offerings of Sepultura for My lord aka Maynor. On this one particular occasion, as the heat of the day started to set in, B-Rad set up the Doombox to motivate us… I remember looking at him saying, “That is a little bit rich for this time of day.” Not complaining about his selection, but I explained that I had a monster headache… unlike the time when a verbal folly ensued between B-Rad and another team member over his musical taste buds… promptly he quipped, “No I don’t have any *thing else on my iPod!” O the memories of the iPod and its tragic fate… That will surly arise in a future post as well.

Playing pranks on one another is one of the best parts of these kind of trips. It is not like you can just go jump in your car and a head down to the local Wally World… remember we are in a dirt poor third world country with unsafe drinking water. We tend to find entertainment in a wide array of circumstances… it can be a simple sarcastic insult, or being the butt of the joke and still better to break a newbie in with a sinister prank. During the construction of the Bathroom at Rosa’s house, we also prepared a latrine pit for the ‘waste’ that would come from it. Hunter, a big, brawny young man, fresh from his high school graduation was ‘up’ to the task to get ‘down’ in the pit. We had already installed a 3” drain line from the house to the edge of the pit. While Hunter was still digging in the pit, we took some water that had been sitting around and was too hot to drink… added a pack of lemonade flavoring to make it look yellow… there you have it, the ‘gag is ready. I sneak over to the pipe that is protruding from the floor in the house and pour it down the drain… about 3 seconds of delay and you heard, “What the…” With one mighty leap, Hunter came out of the pit and said, “That better have not be what I think it is!” I let him off the hook because I did not want that ‘Combs’ side to get loose on me.

Another memory from this visit was when we built a bunk bed for the two small children. Until that point, they had only slept on the floor… did I mention that it was a dirt floor? Collectively the team took some money out of our till and bought the lumber and mattresses for the children’s bed. Que Pasa assisted me in building the bed. We had to assemble it inside the house because the doorway was too small to bring it thru. We attached all of the structural members with 3” wood screws to make it Carlos ‘proof’! A few hours later, the project was completed, and the fitted sheets were applied… beautiful and rewarding. As we sat around eating a sandwich for lunch, Que pasa commented to me that when she talked to her husband Billy that night, she was going to tell him that, “We were screwing on the bed all morning”! That coming from a late 60 years faithful disciple… I still smile when I think about it. That is the type of comradery our teams have every time we gather, we are not being disrespectful by any stretch of the imagination, we just like to have fun while we work or play.

Down the road to redemption we did travel with Rosa, hoping that thru it all we gave her some hope that the cruelty that life had presented to her thus far… Our story with her did not end at that moment, in fact we made several more visits to her home for more work, improvements and personal visits to check in on her and the family. Another great trip and greater memories had been made. Until the next time we gather in the virtual realm of the Federation Blogosphere Portal, good night, good luck, good hunting.

Marco Francisco Valle Valle

May 20, 2020

[ˈmerəˌTHän] “a long-lasting or difficult task or operation of a specified kind.” May well describe my first adventure into international missions. For some time, I had considered traveling abroad especially after serving on many mission teams in the continental states over the years, but this could be the coup de gras for me. Resilient yet fearful… not of the tropical heat, malaria, strange intestinal torturing cuisines or even extreme manual labor… simply put, I have a fear of flying. This journey would mark my return into an Aluminum Condor for the first time after a long, long hiatus. Experience and reason taught me that facing our fears can end in the way… curiosity cured the cat. I will not go any further into the lucid details of a near death experience, but it all ties into the story of our second journey into the land of milk and honey… I love Valium, a wonderful soother of the soul.

“From first to last
The peak is never passed
Something always fires the light
That gets in your eyes
One moment’s high
And glory rolls on by
Like a streak of lightning
That flashes and fades
In the summer sky”
Power Windows, 1985, Peart

Day 1 Year 2 began with the elusive caravan that consisted of packing the transportation units with everything needed to sustain life for the next two weeks. Along with our necessities, we also brought several cases of Federation Contraband that Jefe was duped into muleing for them… toothpaste, clothes etc… all discrete items and innocent for the most part. Passing thru Check Point Charlie there were no issues with the excessive items claimed.

We met up with a team of four people from the Primary Federation zone in Atlanta, Jeff, his daughter and her friend and Uncle Samwell the rooster. We exchanged a brief salutation and loaded up to Honduras… My valium was still in effect, no need to take another one currently. Arriving in Honduras later that morning we passed through the customs portion without issue. Their process of baggage claim was much different than in any airport. These dudes would come up asking “How many bags”? In Spanish of course… none of us could understand anything they said. But it was not the first time they had dealt with a group of Green-gos. In a timely manner they had consumed all our baggage from the belly of the beast to present to the security station at the exit of the terminal… It was about that point it all went awry!

My bag was being torn down and scrutinized like a post-race NASCAR inspection, but off to my right Jefe’s extra ‘Cases’ had drawn quite a stir among the guards. The toothpaste was the primary focal point… Apparently the officials did not take kind to him bringing ‘out of date’ gifts into the country! Through some whining and whimpering, Jefe was able to claim the crates of contraband and proceed past go, collected $200 and did not go directly to jail or the ‘Darkroom’, which will be a topic of discussion in later blog post.

Passing thru the exits a blast of super-heated humidified air hit my face causing me to gasp as if I had been sucker punched in the thorax. Catching my breath and wiping the sweat off my brow I was greeted by Daniela, Maynor and Mario for the first time (ore on that trio later). Loading all the luggage, bags and contraband into a small truck and stuffing 18 or 19 people into a small van for the trek to our accommodation for the next couple of weeks… welcome to Honduras. Settling into the Federation compound after an eventful 2-hour journey, I surmised… It was just plain hot! I tried to take a nap and recoup from the Condor flight along with the sleepless night prior… no way that will be possible while laying in a puddle of my own sweat. The starters pistol has fired, and the marathon had begun… “What a long strange trip it’s been”

On the second day the team divided up for two separate projects: Team A consisting of Jefe, Jeff, Daniela, Maynor, Samwell, Alex, Jared and Team Akien & Hurtin’ worked on a local school kitchen. Team B consisting of Marco, Mater, Stanley, Jennifer, Brad, Lorie, Dane, Aaron and Rigo worked on Gloria’s home building a new indoor bathroom. Not going to spend much time and word on recounting all the details of the work performed, (much of which was recorded On the Federation’s now defunct blog site) but in the virtual realm I want to recount some memories that shaped and affected me on that first marathon.

One of the fondest memories from that trip was the day that Lorie, B-Rad the Former Blogmaster’s sister, was working with my team on Gloria’s home and some local kids stopped by peddling funnel cakes for a little extra scratch. The deal was done, and a price agreed upon… Lorie paid them and brought her score to the rest of us to share… if we dare. “How much did you pay for that Lorie?” “16 Lamas.” The crowd went wild and the rest is history. Her Honduran team name was cast in stone for evermore… LAMA!

The second memory was that one day while laying block for the new bathroom at Gloria’s home, I was standing or perched perilously high in the air on the Death trap 3000 scaffolding system that we had constructed from a 55 gallon drum, some rotten planks and a listing stack of blocks. I was sipping some cool water… like the Matrix, I imaged it was cool, more like 100 degrees from the scorching sun… I looked down as Aaron, Dane and B-Rad were mixing the ingredients for cement on the ground. I noticed that as the water was added… and the more they mixed it… it looked like a very large ‘Cow Chip’. Of course being that this is a Christian trip you could not call it what it was, ‘A Pile of **** ‘ so my inquisitive mind set to work on finding another vernacular composition that would be less derogatory to the blog vetters of Federation perspective… ‘Mook’ was born on that sweltering afternoon in Gloria’s front yard. After we returned from that trip, Jefe received several questions from the Federation command inquiring what is this word ‘Mook’ they are using in the Blog? They had researched its meaning and thought we were referring to the natives as Slaves. That it was not, nor was it ever intended to be anything other thing other than an ‘Easter Egg’ in the blog post.

Finally, one of the events that forever changed my thoughts, perspective, and heart on that first marathon was one day while we were traveling in the auto bus. I do not remember the destination, because it was meaningless then and still now… the marathon is not about where you go, but what shapes you take along the journey. That day I saw a small girl on the roadside… She may have been or looked to be only 3-4 years old. She was digging through a pile of trash… looking for something… A plastic bottle to recycle? Was it an article of clothing to wear? No, she was looking for something to eat! I saw her pull out, what looked to be a chicken bone and clean the rest of the meat from it… A cerebral moment… what could I even have to complain about in my life? Literally from that moment, a God moment! He used it to change me… that I may be a bigger instrument of change for the world in His name, even if that is only one brick, block, or nail at a time. That moment has not only driven me to return to Honduras for the past nine years, and by His will many more in the future… misty eyed now, gotta go.

Marco Francisco Valle Valle

May 19, 2020

2:04 am, the alarm from my iPhone starts blaring a menacing and dark scripted tune by Volbeat. The juggernaut of a rock steady bass drum pattern and the drop D tuned Gibson’s cracking thru overdriven Marshall Amps… the vocals seeking the return of the dark one’s crown of blood… oh the decadence that fills my ear… It is not unusual that I hear that tone at that time of morning. I generally awake and present myself quite early each day, much like a Senior Drill Sergeant Hartman prepares for his morning wake up call to the unsuspecting recruits; I too am ready to smash trash can lids together as I walk between the bunks of those nestled in their beds…yelling, “Rise and shine Sweethearts!” … but!!! Today was scheduled to be a different day… I stress different as heavy as the alarm tone coming out of my phone! I am here… getting dressed for work and preparing for the morning commute… not on my way there… as I have for the past Nine years. This May… will be a disappointing May… it will be spent in a semi quarantined home, not quite alone but distancing as needed… not in a Honduras way for sure.

At 2:04 this morning I begin to transcend to a moment that should have been… I am virtually upset, because I am late! I am never late, but in the same sense I am never too early either. Arriving 5 to 8 minutes early is enough, though my wife likes a 30-minute buffer to secure her OCD tendencies. At this time of the morning, on this day I should have been at or very near Senor Jefe’s house of Harmony. It is the day of gathering… less harmonizing in a musical prose or so it was planned so many months ago. “Gather at 2:30am, caravanning to the Big Blue Box and pick up Mater then briskly travel to Port Charlotte to board the Aluminum Condor.” All of this… in the bright hopes of traveling across Lake Evendim… to arrive in the land of milk and honeydew as we have for so many years… Agh! It is amazing how the microscopic things of life can change even the best laid plans… but that is what we have for the near and foreseeable future anyway.

If you took time to read my prelude, then you know why I am writing in a virtual sense of space and time, It keeps me focused and in continued thoughts of our friends in Honduras even though we, the good ole USA are struggling in a way that is unprecedented in our lives and have been effectively locked out of the condor nest in San Pedro Sula … rumors have the Ramon Viljeda Morales tarmac, as Facebook post suggest… is secured by a couple of early 40’s model Willys Jeeps outfitted with a maul duce and multiple boxes of .50 cal ammo affixed to the rear portion of the bed… conjecture and oppression to some… reality to others. As one of my Old Testament professors would say, “You pays your money, you makes your choice.” No time to dilly dally around… on to our entertainment for the evening.

“Imagine a place
Where it all began
They gathered together from across the land
To work in secrecy of the desert sand
All of the brightest boys
To play with the biggest toys
More than they bargained for…”
Hold Your Fire, 1987, Peart

A first-year team from Wilkesboro traveled to Honduras; to Visit, to Play, to Work and introduce Shade Squatting to the Honduran locals … or so the rumors went. No confidential informant survived the trek according to the US Customs and Border Patrol register and therefore is considered conjecture and contempt in the high courts of the land. The team consisted primarily of a group that was stranded in Guatemala for a few extra days due to minor volcanic activity from the preceding year. I was not part of the initial laceration of the grounds in Honduras due to personal conflicts and commitments here locally, but thru the stories (some true, but most were embellished) and photographic evidence of that adventure I would like to travel back to a time to a place where lives were interrupted… in a truly meaningful way while… along the way they were changed at the same time.

The primary target was a remote village in the northwest territory of Honduras; affectionately known as New Hope, or in Spanish, Nueva Esperanza. There the group descended, literally from and above thru the twisting and turning route of Seven Creek road. The passage or route was named by yours truly in subsequent trips that would follow in the years to come. You would literally cross seven streams and creeks before landing upon this timid quaint mountain village. In Honduran time… they say, it would take about an hour to reach the destination… Gringo time said it takes almost double that. Our first lesson in, “Don’t rush through life”, I suppose… only you find out why in a later episode.

The team was greeted by, “The Teacher” upon their arrival. A buxom brunette, but a darker shade of black. She was equipped with a bubbly personality… a huge, inviting and friendly smile in tow… Her presence was so dramatic and vivid… that some if not most of the team said that her radiance was so powerful… it must have been inspiration to Van Halen’s odd timed primal jungle beat intro for the 1984 hit, “Hot for Teacher.”

The team was led by a rookie captain only known as Chris at the time, (due to the team’s lack of Spanish vernacular aptitude and my personal presence and sarcasm on this trip), He later earned the title of Senor Jefe Scorpion King Rey in and thru his subsequent years of leadership, but primarily it was the squealing like a brownie scout at the afore mentioned high tailed crustacean he found in his room… He is the leader of this team of Rastafarian misfits both fore and aft has kept the dream alive. Mater, the second half of the brain trust by all accounts equals a third of a brain cell (Chris 1/3 and myself the other) according to most… his youngest son Joseph, aka “Muscle Tec” was always ready and willing for a photo op… his goal was to look like the hardest working member of the crew and yet, he would always be in a position of flexing his traps at the appropriate moments when the shutter flashed… they along with Blogmaster B-Rad, Aaron, Jim, Alex AKA Ajax, Jarred AKA Hans, Dane AKA Frans… a tight knit yet multifaceted group that combined with others from the satellite villages near the Federation stronghold in southwest South Carolina. Together they attacked and completed the re-roofing project at the Nueva Esperanza School, providing a day worship and Vacation Bible School for the children in the community. In the end it was a job well done that had earned the new gringos respect among the community leaders… The Teacher… and those associated with the ‘In country’ proliferation of Federation influence.

10 days complete… 10 Years ago… the decadence began in a remote village of Honduras. Lives changed and seeds planted… announcing to the Federation as Karen Carpentered once belted those hallowed lyrics from days gone past, “It has only just begun.” Until our next gathering on the Federation Portal, good night and see you on the Dark Side of the Moon.

Marco Francisco Valle Valle

5/18/20

I, like most of you, the readers of this Federation blogosphere have been bound by restrictions that are unheralded in our lifetime and yet we, individually and collectively yearn to reach out into the forbidden realm that is now considered the norm… a time of unknown and uncertainty has replaced something that was once considered common. That life… which seemed normal a few months ago… now only seems long passed… at least for a foreseeable time. Therefore, I, Marco Francisco Valle Valle with the assistance of my trusty sidekick B-Rad the former Blog Master have taken the task upon ourselves to blog our team events, both in a virtual and contextual sense as I have self-proclaimed myself as the blog master of record and will record those events in a virtual realm of the Federation Portal.

Having concurred that during this time of self-isolation, I should commit myself over the next few days and weeks… I can and should write a virtual blog based upon the memories and events that would have taken place in Honduras in 2020. It is thru those thoughts, incidents, riots, and memories that have inspired me to reveal a different side to my existence… all of this along with the ever-present gringo counterparts of the Carolina del Norte clan that draw forth a sarcastic side of me that must be kept intact on this side of the boarder.

Over the years, Blog Master B-Rad and I have tried to put together an electronic footprint within the Federation Blogosphere scratching deeper that Sasquatch’s footprint on the backside of the poor soul that stole his Slim-Jim… These virtual blogs are in honor of my brothers and sisters who have served in missions from Carolina del Norte and abroad, while considering all of the servants of Christ, together we collectively and willing to put our lives on hold… even at risk of personal safety sometimes… if only for a couple of weeks a year. Viva Honduras! We are ready! We are willing! Together we able to help our brothers and sisters of Honduras!

Three things have affected me since our last gathering in May of 2019. First I lost my true musical and literary inspiration in January of this year, Neal Peart. It was by his melody, beat and word that inspired me to reach beyond my perceived and expressive limits. My thoughts and rhythms… as mystical as they are… dedicated to his memory. Through His works of literature and music over the past few decades, He has been a tremendous breakthrough for an introverted and self-conscience hermit such as me. Often time I have quoted his lyrics and used the music of those to inspire me for blogging in the Federation Blogosphere while serving as a foundation to my experiences in Honduras.

My second inspiration was found in a couple of books that I have wanted to read… and now have time to read during this time of mandated quarantine and government shutdown. It has inspired me to write a “Virtual Blog” of our canceled/postponed spring mission trip to the beautiful county of Honduras and the adventures that always consume us for two weeks. One being a classic among the anarchist culture to rebel against the perceived norm of society and be yourself and the other is a journey of pain that a man endured while grieving with tremendous loss and how he found recovery in travel and writing on what he described as the ‘Healing Road’… coincidence? I think not.

Thirdly, I recently binge watched the Matrix trilogy (again) during a self-imposed quarantine period. I was remined of a scene, when Cypher, one of the crew members of the Nebuchadnezzar, who has now turned into a Judas… he has given up the location of Zion so that he may ‘Plug In’ the Matrix once again… He is sitting at a table eating a juicy T-Bone steak and explaining to Agent Smith why He wants to ‘Plug back in’, saying, “It looks like steak… it taste like steak, but when you are unplugged from the Matrix you suddenly realize it is just a bowl of protein slop. I want to plug back into the Matrix and taste this goodness and feel like it is real.” The Matrix as described in the move is a virtual reality for those who flow through life like sheep heading to the slaughter… nothing is real only virtual in a sense. I feel as though I am stuck in the Matrix of the Corona Virus and in need of some serious unplugging from the madness around me, maybe one of the purposes for writing a blog post this evening.

Together, B-Rad and I had concluded that this year’s trip was special as we would celebrate a decade of presence and decadence in the Central American region of Honduras. Alas not currently and unfortunately, but there is a hope for a reunion this fall…

“We are planets to each other
Drifting in our orbits
To a brief eclipse
Each of us a world apart
Alone and yet together
Like two passing ships”
Permanent Waves, 1980, Peart

Yes, when the world rights itself… the world of journalism sinks its teeth into a juicier and more mystical ‘World Issue’ to distract us on a different plane… the stars and planets align in perfect union with each other… restrictions that bind us now will be lifted and our orbits will cross paths once again at a very unsocial distance… aka a Honduran van ride. Stay tuned for the next episode of the Virtual Blog from the Federation Portal blogosphere.

Marco Francisco Valle Valle

The Parable of the Sower was an integral part in what we brought to the children through our VBS presentation. We certainly feel like we planted seeds, as seeds were planted in us.