Simply Living

A friend of mine was lamenting the Target selection on her blog the other day and it got me thinking about yet one more of the 99 reasons we moved to Costa Rica - Simple Living. Can you simply live right at home in the land of the free and the brave? Sure. Is it more difficult? Definitely. Here in the tropics we do not shop. See that period? We have not bought anything besides food, gas, car and quad parts, and other household goods for 6 months now. Yes, a family of 6 sometimes outgrows items like soccer cleats and new sneakers for school and we have imposed on our friends coming to visit to bring a few things like that from the land of plenty. But we have not shopped for unnecessary clothing or little household decorations or holiday decor or a toy or a game or anything like that since we arrived last August. The kids all have school uniforms, so that helps. But there is no Target. Or TJ Maxx. Or Marshalls. Or Christmas Tree Shop. Or any of your other favorite stores beckoning with colorful flyers and promises of great new Spring selections just in time for Easter!

*

I think of all the times my car pulled automatically into the Marshalls parking lot where I, Starbucks mocha in hand, thought I would just take a look in the half hour of "free" time I had and found myself squeezing back out the exit clutching plastic bags stuffed with hundreds of dollars of items I did not actually need or plan on buying! Here there is no bombardment of holiday candy for Easter or special dresses with matching hats and purses or cute little decorations or anything like that at all. Period. None of that constant tempatation that marketing brings. This is not a consumer oriented society; people here do not consider shopping a pasttime. Does this mean that sometimes I don't have throw rug envy? No. I do wish I could find some cheap but colorful rugs to cover my hard tile floors and sink my perpetually bare toes into but there aren't any, so I don't, and that's one less thing I have to move before I shopvac and mop my house! The only decent shopping, I am told, is in San Jose and that is a good 5 hour drive from here. So, it's not happening. We are simply living with less.

*

The other day during our beach walk Christiana was commenting that she thinks it might be weird to go home. Amen. I know from my Peace Corps experience that as hard as it was to leave my family, friends, and all things familiar behind and immerse myself in a foreign culture, it was much, much, muchly, much more difficult to return home to all the wastefulness of our throw away society and rampant consumerism. The technical term is "readjustment" and after buying the same exact items at the grocery store for 2 years I could not enter a grocery or drug store for many months without forcing down an overwhelming feeling of being, well, overwhelmed! All those choices! All that information overload! You have no idea the magnitude of data you process and internalize on a daily basis at Stop and Shop until you have not done it for a year or two. Too many choices, too many price comparisons, too much time spent poring over highly marketed products and forget about the rest of your day if you are actually going to compare ingredients or the relative sugar content of breakfast cereals! It is happening to you every day and you don't even realize you are on the merry-go-round until you get off and try to get back on again. So, yes, Christiana, it will indeed be weird. And this lovely realization from my daughter whose idea of entertainment used to be a trip to the mall! Now she is the one running around our casa turning off all unnecessary lighting and fighting with Micah over running the a/c in their bedroom at night. You go girl!

*

Besides the lack of a shopping scene, other ways we are simply living include washing dishes by hand, and yes, there are a lot of us. We wash the clothes in cold water only but it comes out warm because of the ambient temperature and we hang the clothes to dry, which I do at home too but now I can forego the down jacket and gloves and am less inclined to settle for the ease of the dryer during a blizzard. We only drive to school and the grocery store, usually combining trips. The rest of the time we read, write, walk the beach, and wait for our "busy" American friends to take a minute from their overscheduled day to send us an email or two. There is an occasional birthday party or sporting event or other social outings of course and I am not meaning to preach, but just think of the time you spend in your car or shopping for Spring clothing and imagine yourself curled up in your favorite chair with a good book instead. Christiana is doing a vegetarian experiment with her Environmental Science class but even without that added incentive, we eat much more healthfully and simply. Real food only, the closest Burger King is an hour away, thankfully! What junk food there is has been imported and is expensive so we don't eat it much. School lunches are proper meals sliced, diced, and cooked from whole foods by living, breathing lunch ladies who work too hard for swinging triceps. No microwaved airplane fake food mass produced in Pennsylvania. And nobody has been sick since we arrived other than an ear infection for Bella and Andy.

*

We are blessed with time. And that is why I posted this great photo of a howler monkey. (Thanks Robin!) Howlers have to hang around to survive. They are folivorous, meaning they eat only leaves with an occasional piece of fruit or tasty flower thrown in for variety. But this diet provides low nutrition and is difficult to digest so they have to chill, resting about 3/4 of the day and all night to ferment and digest their leafy meals in order to get any energy from them. Even though our diets are higher in energy, we could still take a lesson from these fellow primates. So, even if only for one day, try foregoing shopping, drive only if necessary, and learn to be more comfortable with the time you might discover. Time to stop, time to think, time to be alone, time to open a great book and read or bake something from scratch. Saturday is Earth Hour. For one hour, 830 to 930 pm, all around the Earth folks are encouraged to turn off all the lights and nonessential electricity. So, unless you are on life support or emergency oxygen, this means you could probably hit the breaker and play cards with your family by candlelight and tell Abe Lincoln stories. Last year Isaiah and I were home alone and that is exactly what we did. He keeps asking me when we are going to do it again, so here it is! He is excited! And he lives in a country where losing power for an hour is practically a daily event!

*

K3

*

PS If you are reading this blog, please sign on as a follower! It gives me an idea of how many folks are lurking out there and helps me sign on to blog lists so others can learn about life in Costa Rica! Thanks!

That's Bull....

Monday morning here in the tropics, kids at school, laundry is hanging, see it?, no, the pool is not running off the edge, that's just my angle today, stayed up too late watching "The Reader", need to have 10 posts to get on the ex-pat blog directory so stepping up the pace...and 9 and... Andy gone to the border to give them all our money and see if we can get the black panther back. When I say "gone to the border" think "gone to Hell" as that is the closest metaphor. Border towns are teeming, dirty, swarms of uncivilization that can instantly turn you into an obsessive compulsive anti-bacterial soap lover. Dehydrating yourself is the best border strategy so as not to need the "facilities". Hungry? Forget about it. Last time we went we came home with dirt even in our ears thanks to a constant barrage of windblown dirt and dust. Yuck. When Andy got there Friday he found a sticker on the truck window saying it was abandoned like an unloved pet and about to become the property of the aduana, translation: thieving tax agency, and I guess they would have soon given it to the employee of the month had Andy not shown up to visit. This in spite of the fact that it is impounded in their own secure lot where they put it and is accruing a daily fee! So, fingers crossed half-heartedly after 4 months and counting of false hope and premature labor-like anticipation.

*

I heard on Radio Doce this morning that the March winds are here which is funny as I thought these were still the Papagayos minus the steroids but guess they magically morphed at some unknown transitional point, like maybe when the calender page flipped, hmm... One hit wonders heard lately that should have stayed locked in the archives include "Afternoon Delight", "My Baby Takes the Morning Train", "Fox on the Run", and "Roseanna". Others I could actually sing along with included Bread's "Guitar Man" and the not so old "Drops of Jupiter" so you can see the ratio is easily 2:1, cringingly horrible:happy to hear. I also heard that lame America song, whose dazzling lyrics include "Oz never did give nothin' to the tin man" and what the heck was that all about anyway? First of all, I always thought they said "Odds" until this latest "aha!" moment but whatever because it makes no sense either way and is a very dumb song that I never thought too much about. Tropic of Sir Galahad, say what? And speaking of when we actually used to say, "Say what?" as in "Rollercoaster, of love, say what?" Ha! I wonder if the Ohio Players are here in CR too! Remember sitting glued to the radio hoping they would play some favorite song and straining to hear the lyrics? I remember writing "Stairway to Heaven", my first book! And now you can figure all that blather out immediately as the internet posts them all, for better or worse. Hopefully this will be an added incentive to song writers to sober up and write some good stuff, all that hippety hop nasty crap not withstanding. Stay tuned for more blasts from the past. At least I will be in great shape for my 30th MHS reunion this summer! I wonder if my hair will still shape into wings... Say what?!

*

Which brings me to my topic of the day, Bulls... Saturday nite marked the beginning of the next round of Fiestas which move from town to town. The last round were the Chrismas ones and now we are gearing up for Semana Santa, holy week. Not sure how they are Easter-like in any way, except perhaps for the prayers sent up by the bull riders and chinese food eaters. I took Micah to meet his friends and Eileen came along for her fiesta debut. We took up our position in the stands, which are constructed fresh for each town's fiesta and resemble those toothpick projects my kids had to make to see which design could support the most weight. People hang off and sit all along the fencing that comprises the bull ring itself and try to bravely kick the bull when it comes by and this fiesta crowd was particularly large, Villa Real being a bigger town, so that when the bull ran by the people lining the inside of the fencing all rose with synchronicity like a pop-up book or the wave at a sporting event! In addition to lining the fences, the inside of the bullring itself was filled with macho men with liquid courage, typically the local firewater guaro, coursing through their veins. There are usually some gringos in there and, this being Spring break time, there were a few tourists and college kids too. You could practically hear the scratching of their pens on the postcards home, "Dear Mom and Dad, ...gored by a bull..." All around the outside of the bull ring are carnival games, candy apples, flying swings, cotton candy, dancing parlors, fried dough, flying pigs, and your typical fiesta fare found everywhere else in the world, the only distinction being the language all the ex-inmate workers speak. One funny aside, under the "supervision" of his Dad, Isaiah spent all his money one night at the Brasilito fiesta on some crazy game and finally won a bottle of wine! He and his buddy Jackson, also clearly a minor, wandered the fiesta proudly with their prize alcohol for the rest of the evening and were the talk of the school as half the teachers were there too!

*

So, the stage is set. Now for the action! The rider and bull burst through the gate where one of two things usually occurs. Either the rider manages to hang on for the allotted time to a simple rope tied around the bull's chest, digging a metal boot spike into the bull's side, enraging the poor beast who bucks and flings him around like a bad case of shaken baby syndrome. OR, and this is what the crowd really loves to hate, the bull succeeds in tossing that piercing pain in his side off his back. Once either outcome is effected, the bull might either stomp on the rider, impale him on a horn or the rider might manage to run off and crawl under the fence or is unceremoniously carried off and stuffed under the fence with some degree of injury or unconsciousness and little or no medical care. Once the rider is dispensed with, the bull continues to chase the macho men around the ring, snot flying everywhere, until the dancing horses enter and manage to lasso it into submission or the bull finds the open gate and runs off into the shoot and truck waiting to transport it to the next night's fiesta.

*

The bulls were particularly fierce Saturday night and Eileen and I had watched a few dramatic rides, cold-ish Imperial cans in hand, waiting for the big draw of the night, Chichiri, one of the two most famous bulls in the Fiesta circuit, as he has killed two riders this year. It is difficult to survive a bull horn that enters your mouth and exits the top of your head. They had a brief intermission while they switched bull trucks with some typical colorful Guanacastican dancing and a school band playing whatever beat it could manage on the only two instruments available, drums and xylophones. The field cleared and the macho men all huddled around the gate dancing and slapping each other on the ass while watching up close for the next bull, then signaling its imminent arrival by running away to the other side as fast as possible, so reminiscent of Monty Python - "And brave, brave Sir Robin, he turned his heels and fled..." Out charged a big black bull with no rider! Sometimes this happens, not sure why, perhaps the rider figures out at the last minute that his life is worth more than $20? The bull started chasing after the macho men and had made his way to the opposite side of the ring when suddenly the lights went out in the ring, giving that black beast a distinct advantage! The lights outside of the ring were still on, plunging the bull into the shade of the toothpick stands, giving some real drama to those postcards from the edge! Sadly, they never managed to fire up the spotlights and the bull riding was prematurely ended before we could get our $10 view of Chichiri. We bravely rode the flying swings, screaming like teenage chicas, thinking of every carnival ride horror story ever told and Micah and Eileen dominated the bumper car scene before calling it a night.

*

Before I conclude my Monday post, let me just take a minute to update you on that scorpion I evicted in my cleaning frenzy. No, he did not return to sting my nose or bite my toes, as over the hills we go... Oh, never mind. But, it turns out, he does have both a vindictive streak and friends in high places, namely our bathroom, as that same Friday night those ants-formerly-known-as-helpful whose praises I am sure I have sung in past posts were apparently persuaded to take up his charge and our bathroom burst into life with a veritable army of red ants in all shapes and sizes suddenly swarming in the shower, streaming in from the space where the ceiling meets the wall and flying around the house like a really bad segmented body horror show with a cast of thousands! What began as a simple idea for a shower before dinner (after Micah and I swam the beach and I finally figured out that if I swim with a mask and snorkel I don't have a post-swim allergy attack, aha!) became a night time of murder and mayhem and ladders and Andy filling the bathroom with a cloud of BayGon - the nastiest spray available in a convenient aerosol can and that can shrivel a tarantula in seconds, so I've been told. And of course the darned shop vac was clogged with concrete dust from earlier cleaning, ahem, causing Micah to curse with words like the back end of bull.... while cleaning it out so we could attempt to suck them up even tho half managed to be blown back out the other side, something my sweet Miele would never have allowed to happen. I swear I heard a scorpion snickering nearby while I brushed my teeth later, wondering how much residual BayGon was left on my toothbrush...

*

K3

Tidying Up

Bella and I are home today as Andy took the BeGo to the border to see how many parts have been "borrowed" from the Black Panther. And, by the way, yes a BeGo is a tiny compact car that we are managing to fit in just fine, all 6 of us! Usually we are on a bumpy dirt road or the beach road, rarely on pavement like you may be picturing, no "freeway" driving here. The kids took the quad to school so we are home baking bread, making cookies, and tidying up around the place. The power has been going on and off all morning and I am wondering if I have jinxed myself. The second to last time I baked bread the power went off in the middle of baking it with no fewer than 6 half baked loaves of bread in the oven, which proceeded to slump all over themselves and the oven, unable to support themselves any longer without the heat needed to chemically prop them and their dying yeast up, and when the power came back on an hour-ish later I had one huge mono-loaf attached to all 4 walls of the oven, given a real good visual for the term, "half baked" and I am praying that does not happen again today! With bread must come soup. So even tho I am sweating in a bikini with the effort of typing, we will probably be perspiring in our potato soup at dinnertime.

*

But back to the tidying portion of the day. Since I have been teaching for the past couple of weeks, some of the meticulous cleaning I usually undertake, ahem, has been let go a bit. So after mopping the floor humming tunes from Cinderella, I dragged my shopvac outside, the only vacuum I have here to use which makes me dream of my sweet Miele at home in RI where she rests in her cozy closet while I am provided with no end of frustration or the f-word as the handle constantly falls apart when the plastic floor attachment sticks to the tile on every other stroke in spite of the rolls of masking tape I have used to try to tape each ridiculous section together. But don't get me started on that. I dragged the cursed appliance out to try to clean up the concrete dust from the patio that surrounds us as the concrete is not sealed properly so constantly disintegrates into a fine dust, eventually making its way into the house if not sucked up regularly. Now, you are probably wondering, is she really going to bore us here with the details of her housecleaning? No, that is just the thing. Any time you forget where you are, doing some mundane task like you might do if you lived in the Ukraine or the US or anywhere else in the universe, that's when you inevitably get blindsided, reminded that you are, in fact, living in Costa Rica.

*

So there I was just leaning in to the unpleasant task, when I mindlessly moved the plastic bin of pool and snorkeling toys and surprised a large scorpion, which quickly scuttled back under it while every inch of my own skin started to crawl. Yuck. Of course I could not let it linger there, so close to the front door and all, and finally was able to get it cornered with a broom for a photo op, see above, which apparently it was in no mood for and then encouraged it into a plastic quart Pops chocolate ice cream container where it promptly hunkered down to await its fate. The photo is for Alicia, who stated bravely that she does not mind scorpions at all but the tarantula photo put her over the edge. As an aside, that same tarantula, or perhaps its twin, was waiting outside just below the door when Andy went to lock up two nights ago. It's tough to tell them apart...

*

Now, I confess, scorpions really creep me out with their sinister little lobster-like claws and nasty segmented tails for maximum flexibility. I know they are my zodiac sign and perhaps I should have some kind of fondness for them, but I really wish my Mom had waited and pushed me out as a Pisces or something, possibly simultaneously landing herself in the Guinness Book for the longest pregnancy had she succeeded. They, including Micah, say that the beast's sting is like a bee sting, nothing worse, but the idea of having one of them actually on my body somewhere before flipping that nasty barb on the end of its tail over its head and into my largest organ gives me such agida that I am sure I would have a heart attack simultaneously from the creep factor alone. Others have said the venom can make you feel kind of high for the rest of the day but I'll take quaaludes or some moldy mushrooms over that any day.

*

Here's an interesting fact, tho I have not tried this at home myself. When cornered and sensing its imminent demise, a scorpion will supposedly sting itself and head voluntarily off into scorpion heaven where I suppose none of us freaky humans abide. Rumor around school has it that if you make a little ring of fire and put my zodiac mascot in the center, it will indeed commit scorpion suicide, using its handy dandy built-in hari-kari barb. I prefer to toss them as far from the house as I can, hoping they are not vengeful creatures like their human zodiac signees, and will make their way with great determination back to the foot of my bed to wait under the covers, stinger in the up position, for my tired little toes to stretch out. Which, by the way, is the best reason for having white and only white linens in the tropics. I figure the beasties do serve a purpose and I did look that up in response to a student in my class who stepped on one after I explicitly stated, "Don't...," and the answer to "What good are they anyway?" was not all that impressive. I mean, they do eat spiders and other insects, ya-da-ya-da-ya-da, but nothing so amazing as to stimulate the sympathy of your average teenage boy. Frankly, I'd like to match up our tarantula with the stinging gymnast and see who prevails, as creepy as that would be. Rather like that footage of the killer whale and the great white shark wrestling with their teeth in the cold waters lapping at the ends of the streets of San Francisco, but with less splashing and underwater obscurity.

*

Okay, I am off to make sure the ants have not discovered the rising bread. I fully expect they are capable of carrying off a loaf or two if they put their backs to it. Speaking of San Francisco, I will close with my new Spanish name, as coined by my friend Gloria from that fair city and the birthplace of Hannah - Kelita. This name is useful as it prevents every Tico I meet from saying, "Kelly? Oh, like Barbie's sister!"

I found Karen Carpenter!

I may be dating myself for missing her, but I have found Karen Carpenter! No, that's not her, that's Bella...

I used to listen to the Carpenters as a dreamy-eyed pre-teen and thought it was so cool that she and her brother sang together and were both so, well, groovy together, while me and my brother couldn't even play a decent game of croquet without fighting over who got the green mallet and if I got to it first he chased me and beat me up in front of the neighborhood kids until I agreed to be orange. Green was the best, by the way, because green went last so could capitalize on all the balls already in play. And yes, my brother usually chose to send me across the street as opposed to taking two extra shots when he gleefully hit my orange ball, humility not being in his vocabulary.
*
But back to the lovely romanic innocence of the Carpenters, "long ago and so far away..."! They are alive and well right here in Costa Rica on the only radio station playing US tunes with a couple regular DJ's who broadcast in English. Radio Doce is nothing short of a blast from the past and perhaps the past is all they can play legally within copyright laws, I don't know. I find myself singing along to tunes I have not heard in 30 years or so while driving Bella to school, speeding over the improbable background of rutted dirt roads as the faster you go the smoother it feels, always on the lookout for blind corners behind which may be mulling a whole herd of cows, some of whom may even be laying in the road depending on the hour. As I am usually late, I move rapidly along sans seatbelt, which would only serve to continuously tighten until I am inextricably pinned to my seat, clicking on the radio and becoming instantly transported back to my days at Gaudet Middle School. I might find myself back at the 8th Grade Prom while a blast of Summer Breeze fills my BeGo. Or I might find myself lamenting along once again with the woeful sounds of Karen herself singing "Don't You Remember You Told Me You Loved Me Baby?" bringing my teenage angst and raging hormones right back while I belt out that heartfelt song along with her, "I love you, I really do," wondering if I had someone in my back-then self to feel so achingly for. Today she happily sang "Sing A Song" with all those adorable children in the chorus and I was so sure I could have contributed mightily to that, once upon a time in the back seat of our family station wagon. You would never imagine she had died so young and tragically to hear so much cheerful innocence.
*
Hitting the power button for Radio Doce might bring me back to being both so cool and so insecure at Middletown High School on a different day. While I speed by the howler monkeys hanging in the trees overhead I find myself singing along with the Beatles to Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, thinking in my surreal surroundings about the lyrics to this particular soundtrack and their trippy implications. A trip, indeed, glancing over my shoulder at Bella in the backseat wearing her rose colored glasses rimmed in pink sparkles which could have come straight from those decades gone by. And this just after picking up our German stained glass artist neighbor, Adrian, with his pony tail and sober for a change demeaner, it being morning and all, delivering him to the bus stop humming, "Do you Know the way to San Jose?"
*
I might find myself transported back to my college days by Pete Townsend, singing along to, "Let My Love open the Door," remembering my boyfriend dropping me off for our final farewell before I left for a semester in England. He died tragically while I was abroad. This too, while digesting my usual fake breakfast that Bella serves me cheerfully each morning with my coffee (see photo), a brown plastic waffle I sometimes supplement with a perpetually over easy cloth egg on a pink flower-shaped plate with some plastic grapes and an orange or pear. Yummy. I guiltily sneak them back to her play kitchen when I return home, not sure what else to do after I pretend to eat them day after Groundhog-ish day, thinking I wish the real food would magically replenish itself over and over in my own play kitchen. That would be the kind of recycling everyone could embrace!
*
So even though Andy and I sometimes draw straws to see who has to change out of their pajamas to make one of the four daily trips out to school, at least if I draw the short straw I have the anticipation of some time travel courtesy of Radio Doce to look forward to and accompany me on my journey. And sometimes when I pull up to Educarte or find myself at the entrance to the Country Day School singing "It's More than a Feeling" or some other Boston tune, thinking I am in the bucket seat of my '64 Dodge Dart or sitting under the stars on the beach of our Maine lake, I am confused for a moment. But the palm trees and blast of heat when I open my car door drop me right back into present day Costa Rica. Perhaps I should listen to some Tico tunes for a change.

Erin Go Bragh-Less! The day after...

Top o' the mornin' to all you leprechauns out there still dancing a jig, or perhaps hiding under a shamrock recovering from too much exuberant jig dancing and green beer drinking. All that food coloring can't be too good for you, the rest of it aside... Who would have guessed that we could find a really good corned beef dinner complete with bagpipes and enthusiastic wearin' o' the green right here in the rainforest? Okay, not so rainy forest, but it was steamy all the same and green was the dominant color of the day tho the Irish Knit everything was conspicuously absent. Yes, Outback Jacks on the not so beautiful beach of Brasilito, one beach over from us, home of the infamous "Bye Bye de Bush" party, was the scene of some serious celebrating of all things Irish! I am not sure the Ticos knew what to make of it all on a Tuesday night, as they seemed to be watching with great curiosity as the distinctly non-Latino music and green haired revelers spilled out into the tropical night. Perhaps with time they, too, will become Irish by injection or simply adopt the enthusiasm for one day like the rest of Americans do.

For my kids it was perhaps the most enthusiastic wearin' o' the green I have ever witnessed as it meant a reprieve from their school uniforms. Isaiah even wore a green furry wig we brought back from Jordan's Bat Mitzvah! Christiana laid her Aunt Erin's age old lament to rest, perhaps, by wearin' Micah's shamrock boxers, yes, over a pair of spandex shorts after her father raised his eyebrows. Every year me Mum would hang the Erin Go Bragh paper shamrock in the cottage window to mark the 17th of March and she, in all her infinite young wisdom, would say with great embarassment, "Why don't you put Mark Go Underwear?" in response to yet one more excuse for said brother Mark to tease her endlessly as brothers are wont to do. So Christiana did the Go Underwear part for her Aunt anyway...

Meanwhile, back at Outback Jack's, where the sands were jumping... We invited our Irish neighbor Eileen to join us and discovered her talent for singing and bravery! They had a German sounding Karaoke singer who alternately entertained us when the poor bagpiper stopped blowing and marching around for a much deserved water break, kilts, sporran, and knee socks not exactly being tropical wear. Eileen got her New York Chutzpah and her Irish up and decided after listening to the singer butcher "Killing Me Softly" that we needed a song from the Motherland. She convinced the brazen imposter to relinquish her grip on the mike and sang "Tu-ra-lu-ra-lu-ra" acapella, there being a sad omission of Irish ballads on the karaoke selection! We all sang along while Eileen rocked Outback Jacks and their wasn't a dry smilin' Irish eye in the house! And she didn't even need the "mas fuerte" of turtle egg eating to do it! I am sure even the crabs stopped their incessant scuttling around the beach to hear the unfamiliar melody of her clear Irish lilt as it met their tiny ears on the warm breeze!

Back to the bagpiper, chilling in the corner. Turns out to add to his potential for heatstroke, that he hails from Alaska! I forgot to ask if he departed for greener shores because of their governer... He has been living in Panama for several months now and in his travels he somehow abandoned his bagpipes in Peru! So the owners of Outback Jacks actually flew to Lima to retrieve them so he could play and sweat for us all! Talk about an international affair and an admirable dedication to the saint known as Patrick. Surely they deserve some sort of honorary mention by the Ancient Order of Hibernians when they put their mugs down! And all so they could sell green beer and corned beef, which by the way, I have no idea where they got! Perhaps the corned beef capital of the world, Peru?

And speaking of cojones, the ocean water is finally clearing and warming up. Perhaps St. Patrick has done his thing here too as the sea snakes seem to have headed for other waters. So I strapped some on and started to whip my typing arms into shape with ocean swimming! One day in the school pool where my teeth got whiter convinced me that I don't need the monotony and chemicals it affords. So I am swallowing my apprehensions and swimming along the shores of Playa Conchal, snakes and sharks be damned! (See photo) Easy to say from this distance... I started on Monday and was about 2/3 of the way down the sunny shoreline, just about to start patting myself on the back in between strokes for my bravery, even tho I only stayed in water deep enough to pull my hand through without hitting bottom, like you used to do when learning to swim, "Look Mom, I'm swimming!" while your hands groped for the next sandy perch. When what did I spot just ahead? Why, a group of folks all gathered near the water's edge, pointing into the water. Damn. So I got out and they managed to convey to me in Farsi and a little Spanish and sign language and ultimately by drawing with a stick in the sand (!) that they were looking at a snake in the water. We went through the whole range of communication once more to determine that it was not yellow and black, like the deadly sea snake, but brown and white and mostly because the lovely serpent then consented to be washed in with the next wave I saw that it was, indeed, one of the beautiful brown spotted eels that are sometimes in the shallows.

So I assured them it was "muis simpatico", deferring to my "expertise" in our common language, and tried to be a poster child for cojones and encourage them not to beat it to death with their sticks by diving in just past its wiggling form and praying it would stay close to the bottom, swimming along my merry way thinking what a good example I was setting but also unable to get my wandering mind off sea snakes and how even tho their venom will kill you in a few mere minutes, they have such tiny mouths they could probably only bite you on an ear lobe or in the webs between your fingers, then putting that exact part of my body into the water blindly ahead of me... Thinking too of how Micah and I were walking the sea snake-laden beach just last Friday, no more than three days prior, when we risked our very lives with a stick and a t-shirt to toss one back into the water in an attempt to "rescue" it and to see how they look in their watery home. Because even if it is against your better judgment to perform such a "humanitarian" gesture, if your teenage son gets it in his head to move a highly poisonous snake you are bound to stop protesting eventually and help out at some point if he persists in proceeding. And sure enough, before the snake managed to get itself back to the warmth of the sand where apparently they were intentionally heading to escape the cold water, we observed that they do, indeed, swim on the surface and are very visible if you are looking from above, like from the safety of the sandy shore as opposed to at eye level. I tried to swim with my fingers locked a bit more tightly together and perhaps I exited the water soon after that thought, just shy of my intended destination, where I looked back and saw the Farsi speakers still pointing en masse and waving their sticks at the poor spotted eel.

I walked the rest of the beach sneezing all the way as even this salt water seems to have that affect on my damned sinuses. There have been 2 huge belted kingfishers plying the waters for food there lately and I watched them do their thing in between sneezes, not exactly able to sneak up on them and probably scaring them and their intended dinners to death with my explosions. I kept hearing things in the tree-lined shore and thought someone was following me. The snake god? Would he thank me or consign me to some horrible fate? Had I done more good than harm or vice versa? Finally I was hit on the head with an empty fluttering seed pod and realized the sound was coming from the trees themselves, as their hanging seed pods were popping open and releasing their seeds to the waiting warmth of the ground below. Another "aha" moment brought to you by Mother Nature. Time to get my littlest leprechaun off to school...

Beware the Ides of March!

And so we find ourselves in the midst of yet another Friday the 13th, so far, so good. I happen to like the number 13, having been born on it, and the next Friday the 13th will be in November on my birthday!

*

Yesterday was much worse. We woke up to no water. None. Turning the faucets resulted in getting more of the same, air. They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over, expecting a different result. Well, it is amazing how many times we turned on faucet after faucet, toothbrush in hand, either forgetting or hoping for a different result! Tough to shower with air, shampoo not having much of a foaming action without it. So we harkened back to our Peace Corps days and went to the spigot below the pool, bucket, towel and shampoo in hand. The water temperature is not a factor here, it rarely comes out very cold and even if it did would feel mostly refreshing. So we all managed to get to school looking and smelling halfway presentable while the ants did the dishes. But it made us appreciate H2o with renewed vigor. When was the last time you were without water? I won't launch into a tempting tirade here on water conservation or the gloomy scenario of a warmer world with millions of people suddenly cut off from the Himalayan water company. But it is good to be reminded nevertheless of the preciousness of this commodity and retrain yourself to simly turn the tap off when you are washing dishes or brushing your teeth!
*

I have lived in three places now where water shortages were a fact of life and we stored water in every available container for those times when the faucet produced only air. I remember one time in Jamaica when our neighbors flooded their apartment by inadvertently leaving the waterless faucet turned on and the water came back into the pipe, filling the sink and happily overflowing all over the floor while they were away for the day! For many of you, the most likely equivalent might be a rare power outage in your first world nation where you go to bed with no power and are suddenly awakened in the middle of the night by all your lights and tv and appliances coming to life with the restored flow of electrons you forgot to switch off in the dark! 'Nuff said. We are all dancing a little jig while we brush and shower and wash with abandon today and will soon forget to appreciate water properly once again.

*

Speaking of ants. Was I? Maybe not, but I needed a segue. We have 3 types of ants sharing our casa. Hormigas, as they are called in Spanish. The first kind are the teeny tiny sugar ants that live by the millions in my kitchen, occasionally migrating to any room with a guaranteed source of sugar, even if it is in the form of toothpaste. They aren't picky. They love sweets! They form trails all over the place, signalling chemically to their buddies, hey, this way, cookie crumbs on the counter! Or, their favorite nighttime treat, the compost bin. You know ants are basically blind, right? We could possibly get rid of them if we were absolutely meticulous about leaving any kind of sweet food crumbs from ever touching or resting on any given surface of the house, but that is not very practical with 6 of us happily munching away. It also means that any open cereal bag or any other kind of thing that has sugar listed as an ingredient must be stored in our very cramped refrigerator and explains why on any given day you can open the freezer and have a bag of Golden Grahms fall on your head. I am sure we have eaten our share, like that protein powder you can boost your smoothie with in the good ole' U, S, of A. If you are not sure if sugar is an ingredient in any given food, they will let you know in a hurry. Did I mention how quick they are? And they have given us a newfound appreciation for both airtight containers and water, yes, water. They can not swim! So you might come into our kitchen and see the cookie container or compost bin stranded in the middle of a water filled cookie sheet. Anything I bake and set out to cool becomes a challenge between me and the ants; they usually know before I do when it is cool enough to touch.

*

The second type of ants are usually outside of our house and we try to keep it that way. They are the black ants, as we so creatively call them. They bite. And it hurts! They are protein lovers so if you drop some cheese or meat on the floor they barge right in without invitation. They also have amazing powers of smell and communication and can locate a new source of protein before you know it hit the floor. Emerging from the house yesterday I found them doing their usual line dance around Isaiah's sneaker. Upon closer investigation, I discovered there was a dead tarantula wedged behind the shoe box they were happily breakfasting on. Yuck. As with their sweet loving cousins, simply removing the spider to a distant location causes them to follow immediately, like throwing a ball to your dog. Which, in the case of our dog, would be like throwing a coconut as Duncan has gone completely loco for chasing coconuts. (see photo of him waiting for his coconut to float by.) He will drop them on your feet if you are not paying attention or in the pool if you are swimming or on the ground where he will stare at it all day, occasionally picking it up in his what must be very strong teeth and flinging it around. If he does not eat his food right away, the black ants stand ready to swarm his bowl too.

*

The third ant is my personal favorite, if you must have such a thing. They are the red ants and are bigger by far than either of the other two. They are my kind of ant. They come in at night only, clean the bathroom and the kitchen, and leave by morning. They don't trouble me any and never outstay their welcome, always leaving a place cleaner than how they found it. What a good ant! I will stop before I break into song.

*

Well, that's all the news fit to print for this week. The fires are out, the truck is still at the border as the paperwork was delayed by another earthquake in San Jose, I just finished teaching second grade for 2 weeks, Bella had a tooth filled, Micah had a field trip to the beach to reenact World War II battles, Christiana is on an honor society field trip, Isaiah will be out in the field playing baseball with his school and the local Nicaraguan boys.

*

K3
*
PS Well, talk about timing! I just found out next week is national fix a leak week in the USA where it seems a trillion gallons of water are wasted each year! Ouch! For more information and facts to wow your St. Patty's Day party guests, visit the EPA website www.epa/gov/watersense. Come on people! It is one of those two things we cannot live without, after all! And no, the other is not Starbucks....

Critters

March 7, 2009

Well it has been a busy, critter filled couple of weeks here in sunny Costa Rica. The other evening Andy and I were sitting on the veranda by the pool talking when Bella came out of the house behind us and casually remarked, "Mom and Dad, there is a big spider next to you." She went on about her way and we really were only half listening but Andy turned and there was this huge tarantula on the ground next to us! Yikes! Some days you kind of forget you are in the tropics until something like this pops out to remind you!

*

Last week I gathered the dirty clothes from the casita in my arms and carried them back to the house and when I had put them all in the machine, there sat a scorpion right on top of Christiana's sports bra, arrgh! I know they are my zodiac sign but they are the creepiest looking things and thank goodness it did not sting me while I was unknowingly relocating it! The winds are still blowing and the water has suddenly turned very cold with the upwelling. It is so dry that brush fires have been burning on all the hills around here, driving all these critters out. Monday night Andy battled the fire that burned behind our house for most of the night. It is amazing to see how fast the new growth begins but I don't think anything will grow in earnest until the rains begin again. In the meantime the orange lines of fire provide our nighttime entertainment and I keep singing to myself, "How can we dance when our earth is turning; How do we sleep while our beds are burning?"

*

Well, one of the 99 reasons we jokingly gave last year when the 99th person asked us why we were moving to Costa Rica has come to pass. "Cheap plastic surgery," was my answer and last weekend I got my first implant! Yes, it's true. But not very centerfold-ish. Even though breast implants draw your gaze everywhere you go here, forcing me to bite my tongue before it says, "Nice boobs, did you get those here?" Mine, alas, is not so eye-catching, located a little higher up and of a singular variety in my mouth. Boring and necessary, I won't regale you with my tales of pain and misery from the past week. My smile is a bit compromised for the next 2 months with a new temporary tooth that is shorter than my old one so I don't bite on it and cause it to fall out as it is only glued in while my implant heals and I am having to relearn the "f" word, I mean sound, with this new little space in my mouth but at least I am not all stitched up like the bride of Frankenstein following a facelift. I won't attach a photo! And it does cost a fraction of what it would set us back in the States.

*

I have been substitute teaching all week in second grade and it has been fun to be back in the classroom after many years. My class are mostly native Spanish speakers, one is French, the rest are Americans and the cultural diversity makes for an interesting day. Bella started taking hip hop lessons in addition to ballet. Isaiah is learning to alternate breathe while swimming which I love to see! Perhaps another Save the Bay swimmer is emerging! Micah, nicknamed the baconater, has not been frying meat shirtless this week and I keep thinking of writing about the perils of cooking in a bikini as we all wear as few clothes as possible around here. Christiana, Andy and I started scuba lessons and they both had their first thrilling experience of breathing underwater last Sunday! I am renewing my training as I lost my scuba card years ago and hope the ocean will warm up by the time we are ready to venture forth in our flippers from the confines of the pool!

*

I hate to jinx him, but Andy actually had news that our truck may be released this week! For those of you not following the continued saga of the "black panther," our truck has been impounded since November in a secured lot at the Nicaraguan border, Penas Blanca, yes, that's correct, we call in Penis Blanca, the white penis also, while the Costa Rican aduana has tried to extort as much money from us as they can. Who can blame them really? So we have rented a series of BeGo's, zipping our family around in a tiny 5 passenger economy car while they have probably been slowly stripping our truck of all its parts! Stay tuned for the next thrilling edition of the Black Panther does Penas Blanca. And say a prayer for us!

*

Ciao for now!