One man's trash is another man's treasure.

Yesterday Joe, Lane and I rummaged around a closing Army base asking "Can we have this? How 'bout this? Can we have some of that food?" We managed to fill up a donated 20' flatbed with over 450 cement blocks, sacks of cement, corrugated iron sheeting, lumber, PVC tubes, you name it. I was the lucky recipient of the block, should be just enough to build my 4000 gal tank. Calling the Army wasteful doesn't even do it justice. They fly their helicopters around to deliver power saw blades while the dirty, smelly three Peace Corps folks are asking them if we can have a carton of milk for the school kids, or if we can have that plywood they'd just burn to make into a chalkboard to give health lessons. As we drank their imported bottled water and ate their $17 apiece MREs, we commented that their old sewer pipe hopefully will be able to supply a few families with fresh drinking water. This imported, SCH 40 PCV pipe that would've just been left behind is a godsend to these villages. It's pretty ridiculous comparing one US governmental agency vs. the other. But they thanked us for "picking up their trash for them."

I believe the UN World Health Organization's Water, Sanitation and Health sector (see Right to Water) estimates the current cost of supplying the whole world with access to clean water and sanitation at around $20 billion. Can someone remind me how much we are spending in Iraq every week? Is it closer to $1 billion or $2 billion? How much is Halliburton charging for laundry these days? Where is your tax money going? Where do you want it to go?

Now my folks are hauling in the blocks (25lbs each) and I snuck off to "buy some more tools" but really I'm buying back some sanity, a brisk gin and tonic, and resting my poor body for a day.

This past week we worked really hard in our little rock garden. We started laying out pipe from our spring to our eventual tank, hacking, grunting, sweating, bleeding, cursing in Ngäbe, just to give the tube a good foot or so of cover. I've become the rock removal specialist. When their arms are too tired from swinging the homemade pick-ax, their backs are too sore from hacking the line, their legs are too tired from the hour+ hike, and their hands are too blistered, they call up yours truly to pick up the 2' dia rock in the way. Did they fail to notice I've been working this whole time right next to them? What makes them think I have any energy left to move that rock? Surprisingly they respect the burying rule, and I am the only one allowed to actually glue the pipe, only after I've confirmed we've dug the trench deep enough. It's going slow but well. Ah...I'm to tired to write more....