No pictures

Busted. Tomorrow is a new day and hopefully we will get through it without making a judge or an orphanage director angry. Today - not so great in that department. I have had my precious camera with me every day. I have been beyond careful to only take pictures that are allowed. Today Aaron wandered around to the back of one of the buildings and I had left my rather expensive camera back with our stuff. After about 10 minutes back there looking at the tractors and horses with our dear sweet boy, who was in a very good mood today and who was very glad to have us with him, I decided to go get the camera. When I got back with it I proceeded to take pictures of Aaron and Rob, the drying apples on the ground, the tractor (Aaron also took pictures of the tractor - he loves pushing the button), flowers and a horse and wagon. No people - no buildings - nothing on the 'no pictures' list. How can you get in trouble for flowers?? Some of the workers became very nervous over my seemingly suspect behavior and called the director who went through the roof. She called Luda, who called me, and I had to go show the camera with my pictures to the director and one of the men on staff. He speaks a tiny bit of English and fortunately likes us. He agreed that what I had taken was okay and the director mellowed. Tonight she smiled at us as if nothing had happened but honestly, it knocked the breath out of us. We are not in our world. We are leaving the camera at home. I can take a million pictures of Aaron when he is safe in our arms. Until then, my favorite hobby will have to be shelved.


On a much happier note - we think we may have seen the two boys listed for adoption on the RR website under older boys. No promises but maybe... It is very hard to tell but we think they are both in Aaron's group. Aaron mingles with the boys when they have snacktime and both of the boys were at his table. After eating, he left the shed but looked back and noticed that one of those precious boys had escaped from that shed and had run into the other shed. Aaron immediately turned back and began to call out to the workers in his language that the boy had escaped. We didn't know what he was saying but they did. One of the workers went running out of the shed and captured the escaping little guy. Aaron stood there to make sure all was well before he led us away. It warmed our hearts to see the care and concern Aaron has towards the 'least of these.' They are so tiny and helpless. Someone please consider bringing those boys home.

Aaron was much happier with us today. By this afternoon, he greeted us with his old smile. He seems to have mostly forgiven us for leaving him after just four visits, and I don't think we really could have expected better. His poor little jaw is swollen and bruised from yesterday's bad fall (NOT on our watch, although we understand how difficult it is to prevent his falls). He has an inch-long cut on his jaw that most doctors probably would have stitched closed, but the nurses have treated it with some sort of green merthiolate and it is already closing. Add one more to his already long list of scars. We each get only one body this side of heaven, and it has to last us out. He already has too many scars.

Now Rob has something pointless he wants to add...

(Rob writing) Perhaps this overly serious blog will benefit from a few of my silly observations and amateurish wisecracks.

Some of the airports we’ve seen have installed “smoking zones,” glass-enclosed booths large enough to hold several cigarette smokers at a time. In theory, I suppose, these provide smokers with a place to indulge themselves while protecting the public from the annoyances and dangers of second-hand smoke.

The malodorous reek emanating from these booths is hardly to be believed. No matter what ventilation their designers have provided, I have no doubt that the atmosphere inside them is no better than that inside the smokestack of a coal furnace. A smoker would have to need a cigarette very badly indeed to willingly step into one of these things. Yet they do step into them, by the dozens, all day every day.

As for second hand smoke, it is so concentrated around these booths that I could almost feel the tumors forming on my alveoli as I approached them. I think maybe we’ve over-engineered the public smoking problem here.

I imagine the following scenario: Captain Kirk and his crew approach one of these smoking booths aboard the Starship Enterprise. “Standard orbit, Mr. Sulu,” Kirk orders. “Report, Mr. Spock. Is the atmosphere in there breathable?”
“Negative, Captain,” replies Spock. “Atmosphere is approximately 95 per cent carbon dioxide, with trace amounts of poisonous gases and high concentrations of soot and other particulate matter. No known life form can survive inside."
“Acknowledged, Mr. Spock. Beam down one red-shirted crewman, record his death throes, then proceed to our next assignment. I’ll be in my quarters, smoking a cigarette.”