My dog is fighting the waves in her pool. I'm fighting waves of nausea . . . or not, which seems rather abnormal. I'm constantly amazed at how my perception of normal has changed. As my friend Helen once told me, Normal is a setting on the dryer. Still, I'm stunned at what I'll put in my mouth, willingly or unwillingly.

Today I genuinely believe that I almost swallowed a slug. No joke. And since it's rainy season, I see this as a distinct possibility. Whatever it was, it was almost dissolved . . . just sort of gummy and thick. I'd left a water bottle outdoors by mistake. Water bottles are sacred here because they're reused to bottle liquid soap.

So I discovered the bottle near the latrine and filled it the other day adding some instant tea. Never really bothered to check the inside of the bottle . . . certainly didn't rinse it -- that would be too normal. But more amazing than the fact that a gummy creature was on my tongue was my calm reaction. Just a quick swipe of a finger across my tongue, examine the leech-appearing creature, and then a quick flick of the object into the dirt. Life goes on. Yet I still find myself questioning what it really was.

And moments ago I battled a gigantic grasshopper. OK, being from Texas, I'm familiar with very large grasshoppers. But this guy was about the length of my hand. Now I won't kill a cricket, ever. Cricket on the hearth = good luck. Isn't that the saying? I can calmly capture in my hand a cricket of any normal size and release it to the wild. But this grasshopper was too large to even consider capturing, even with both hands. It was bat-size! Truly. I repeatedly swatted it with a notebook, and it scoffed at me. I tell you, the beast scoffed. This is the problem with hot nights. Open doors are a necessity, and in come creatures of the night. Not quite as alarming as the bat that Martin had to remove, but plenty troubling, nevertheless. And it's still here with me . . . somewhere . . . waiting for me to fall asleep . . . at which time I'll grab it and fling it off me . . . the way I do with all large insects that crawl on me in the night. Normal, or normal for life in Burkina.

So school ended today, and my students in the Club de Commerce are planning their end of the year party. I'm in charge of making the bisap. They guys said that Gladis would help me with the sauce that they've chosen to serve. I found that suggestion rather sexist, particularly in light of the fact that Gladis wasn't present to accept their offer of her services. So the boys are getting a lesson in how to make spaghetti sauce. Once problem: they've ordered a kilo of dried fish to add to the sauce. Now don't tell me about puttanesca . . .we're talking tiny dried minnow-size fish . . . bones and all. Is that normal? On the other hand, after a slug, what's a bit of fishy-sauce? Is it any wonder that this meatasauras loves her vegetarian lifestyle here in Burkina? Help prepare the sauce for the party, yes. But eat it? We can only speculate.