Mamacita's Travels

International Lunch Meeting

2007-05-14T14:20:00.000-07:00

One of the very best things about travel is the people you meet. I´ve met some very peculiar people, and some really great ones. I´ll leave the peculiar for later.

Since this was a short trip, I only had time to go on one excursion. Coach and I signed up for a day trip to Isla Tortuga, with promises of white sand beaches, a ride on a catamarn, and a gourmet lunch under white umbrellas among palms trees.
Im very pressed for time today, so I´ll make this short and sweet.

The trip was all it promised to be. It was beautiful and delicious. But the very best part was our serendipitous traveling companions.

When John and I arrived, by taxi, to the pick up point at 6¨45 in the morning, we were carrying the excursion boarding pass for a young Japanese woman that the school had given us to deliver.

We quickly found her, and she had already befriended a young man from Mexico City, who was here working in San Jose.

The four of us fell in together, and we boarded a very plush bus for the two hour trip to Puntarenas. During a short stop where breakfast was provided, we all got our pictures taken with the resident toucan.

The hour and a half long catamaran ride to Isla Tortuga was beautiful, splashy and very elegant.Men in white shorts uniforms made continuous rounds with big trays of fruit and drinks.

Our Japanese friend struck up a converstation, in Spanish, with another young guy. He looked European, but his Spanish was so good, I wasn´t sure of his nationality.

Upon arrival at the picture postcard beach, there was time for snorkleing, swimming, volleyball or an impromtu game of soccer. (Yesterday was the equivalent of Super Bowl Sunday, only it was soccer that had everyone all revved up.)

At lunch, the Japanese woman, the man from Mexico City, Coach, the man of unknown origin, and I, who cannot be described, all sat together in very happy companionship.

As it turns out, the three younger people all spoke not only their own languages, Japanese, Spanish, and German, as our mystery guest was indeed German, they spoke a little French and a lot of English.

Since John and I have very basic Spanish, the linguea franca (sp?) of the day was English.

These three young people were astonishing.

The 23 year old man from Mexico City was with Proctor & Gamble, in Marketing and Research for Latin America.

The 32 year woman from Japan is in Costa Rica to research language schools. There is athe growing demand in Japan from retired Japanese professionals for experience and learning based tours and vacations.

The 25ish year old German man was here to start his internship with Chamber of Commerce International.

We all eagerly exchanged email addresses (they asked for mine first, much to my amazement).

Here s the note to self I came away with: WAKE UP! The world is very, very large and full of fantastic people that are as interesting, accomplished and as kind as anyone you ll ever meet.

It´s a changing, blending , wide, wide world out there. I hope I get to see more and more of it, because meeting people like this is really, really fun.

Marias Kitchen

2007-05-11T15:13:00.000-07:00

Saturday was hot and steamy and after a crowded cab ride home, we put away all the groceries we had in our canasta. Maria chopped and washed and peeled until she had a refrigerator full of produce for the coming week.

Maria´s kitchen is a wonder. The stove, where she prepares meals at least three times a day, is a very old and miniture. The electric burners are flat like hot plates. It sits below a long window , high up on the wall; too high up to see more than the sky. A white curtain, with a band of cherries on the hem ,blows in the breeze. I don´t think the window is ever closed.

A set of open wood shelving serves as a pantry. It has the usual tea and coffee, plates and bowls, and all the boxes of things every kitchen needs.

A tiny, vintage refrigerator, the same brown color as the appliances in my childhood home, is set up off the ground on some pretty big wheels. So far, Ive never seen the refrigerator moved anywhere, though.

The small microwave that sits on a bakers rack that is between the wood shelves and the refrigerator gets a good work out every day, heating up mugs of tea, or reheating leftovers, just like in any other kitchen. Only the re heats are fried plantains sometimes.

On the side of the frig, someone has hung a scale model drawing in pencil of a new kitchen layout, next to a picture of new cabinets and applicances; cherry wood, black trim and stainless steel.

Around the tile breakfast bar that divides the kitchen and the living room, I often come in from school and find Maria and a cousin, or sister, or friend having a cup of coffee and visiting, or cooking together.

Under a small, overhead light, every night she prepares another wonderful dinner . Somehow , she seems to know what her guests would prefer. I never mentioned that I don´t eat a lot of meat, but after a couple of days, most of our meals have been salads, fruits and vegetables, a little chicken and of course, lots of rice and beans.

Last year, when the teenagers were here, there more meat dishes were served.

This is great with me. Yesterday, I saw a regular, unrefrigerated box van in front of the butcher shop, the back doors open and two men inside. Hanging from the ceiling of the van were about six huge sides of beef, and the men were taking one down , for delivery to the shop. I walked past and glimpsed inside. Large coils of sausage were laying on the counter.

Eggs are sold in all the little tiendas, sitting out on the counter in open cardboard egg crates. I have never seen any in a refrigerator, and in my Costa Rican home, they sit in the kitchen in the open shelves.

Every night a small amount of food seems to go a long way. Sometimes I think there won´t be enough for everyone, but no one, especially me, ever goes away hungry. What the six of us eat in the evening is about the amount two people would be served at one of our local restaurants.

The best part of dinner is sitting around the table with the family and trying to talk with everyone, or listen to their conversation. Talking to me, they speak rather slowly, but the kids can´t hold the pace for long. They will start the conversation simply and slowly, but within a few words, they forget what an imbecile I am and run up to cruising speed pretty fast.

Eventually, they leave most of the chore of communicating with me to Maria. She seems to have an inate sense of how to express most subjects in a way I can understand.

Of course, my language skills can lead to some hilarious mis understandings. The other night, Jose, the 10 year old boy, kept saying something about someone at his school having a problem or doing something about what I thought was their heel.

But unfortuanetly, he wasnt´ talking about a talon , or heel, (pronounce it tah LOAN), but about a condon (Coan DOAN) . Ill leave it to your imagination what that word means. As it turns out, a boy at school had shown up with some, and in an amazingly casual way, Jose was reporting this to the family at dinner.

Enter stage left someone who is getting about every sixth word when the kids are talkingsoveryfast. Of course I say, "what is wrong with his heel?" Que es malo con su talon?

Maria looks bewildered and asks me ¨¿Que?" So I repeat the question.
By now everyone has stopped talking and is listening to this interesting development.

By the time she realizes what I mean, the stage is set for explosive laughter. On all our parts.

Oh well.

Youreadthissentenceasfastasyoucanandnocheatingbytryingtodecipherindividualwordsincluding
onesyoudontknowthemeaningoflikeexpediciousorsomething.

I even had trouble typing it without using the space bar. I wish everyone around here had a space bar in their speech when they are talking to me.

Time to run. It´s almost dinner time,and for the privilege of a home cooked meal set in front of me every night, I guess I don´t mind being the live entertainment. After all, everyone is so nice about it, and I promise, I know now and forever the different sounds of talon and condon.

Market Day

2007-05-10T15:43:00.001-07:00

As predicted, Saturday morning was as drenched in sun as the evening before had been awash in rain. Shortly after dawn,the other student, La Señora, and I got up with the rest of the house and got ready to go to the local Farmer´s Market.

Maria was ready with a big basket, and happily, the word is "canasta" in Spanish. There must be some connection to the card game, but having never played it, I don´t know what it is. I love these words that have an English connection in my mind. Makes it much easier to remember.

(Yesterday´s word was sheets. You know, for the bed. Sabanas. Necitamos sabanas en sabado. (Sat.))

Annyyyywaayy, Maria´s two daughters were ready to go, too. Mother and daughters alike were dressed in pink, one of the girls had on glittery pink shoes. With their beautiful dark hair, brushed to a high gloss, they made a rich picture

The market was about a 20 block walk toward the center of town, and the Saturday traffic was wilder than usual. Much to my delight, the littlest girl decided that I was her street crossing partner, and we held hands all the way there.

The market is blocks and blocks long down the middle of the street. Hundreds of people are shopping for the week, loading up little carts, huge baskets and many, many bags.

Everything was for sale. Piles of produce, carrots as big as as a rolled up newspaper, squash, onions braided together in ropes, lettuce as green and perfect as an open blossom. Pyramids of apples were stacked up on counters, a jillion limes filled baskets and of course,bananas, bananas, bananas in huge bunches.

A lot of the fruits were unidentifiable and some so exotic looking that you couldn´t believe they were edible. What were those things whose skins looked like wood? And those hunks of cactus looking stuff? At Maria{s urging, La Señora and I bought a round fruit about the size of a small basketball. It was green and hard and didn{t look all that great. But the man took a mini machete , cut the top off and handed us two straws. The juice was cool and tasty in the hot sun.

And there was more and more. Booths of dried beans for sale, piled up in bowls or in baskets. Dried herbs hung from under umbrellas. Boards covered with different breads.

The girls begged their mother from some little bags of powder that looked like Ovaltine or Strawberry Quick. Im still not sure what these are, since they were confiscated when we got home and Maria found the girls dipping a wet finger in the bag and licking it off their hands.

I thought of my mother when I saw buckets full of huge Bird of Paradise, and red bromeliads for sale. I bought some flowers, a few for my room and a few for Maria.

A salesman, wearing a bag with a product logo on it, stopped us and tried to sell Maria some new toothbrushes. They looked like any we would buy in the grocery, packaged the same way. The gimmick was the different colored bristles that fade as the toothbrush wears out. After a careful examination, she was a no sale and handed them back to the salesman.

We stopped at another booth and she bought socks for the whole family.

Here in this part of Central America, it is a strange mix of the worlds and commerce. There are hundreds of little shops around town selling anything and everything.

Sometimes the shop looks like a tiny collection of garage sale items, other shops have Quicksilver surf brands.

In the airport, plasma screen tvs advertise designer goods, but the other day I passed a man in the street with a wheelbarrow full of fruit, sweating, a tshirt wrapped around his head , as he pushed the wheelbarrow down a roadfull of pot holes.

Pretty soon we had what we needed. The little girls helped carry our very full basket, and after a quick stop at a local pet store/vet to look at a huge boa constrictor in a cage, we caught a taxi home.

The pet store, as it turns out, was why the older girl wanted to come with us that morning. She had come to see the boa constrictor that resided there.

I´m happy I get to see all this, to be here now, when the world has started this strange blending of commerce, technology and history. At one time, the idea of being in Central America at a Saturday morning feria would have seemed as far away as Jupiter. Now, it´s just a happy day spent with friends. And an big ugly snake.

La Lluvia

2007-05-08T10:33:00.000-07:00

Ah, my first weekend in Costa Rica. Fun, lights, action. No.

Having just recovered from my little set back, and feeling rather weak, I decided not to try to sign up for any touring. Also, since there was just one other person at the school, there wasn t much demand for a weekend outing.

I have an arm chair in a cozy corner of my room. It sits in front of a big window, high off the floor, with a sill deep enough to sit in. It looks out into a small, walled courtyard, empty of anything but a lone shrub. The window sill is painted blue, and the mullions make a grid of yellow. The wall is pink. In the dim and cloudy afternoon light, the window frames a soft blur of color, and as the day grows longer, the setting sun turns the light from gray to rose. The whole room glows rose.

I spent a quiet afternoon and evening in my room reading, working a crossword , listening to rain on a tin roof , and learning more about the mysteries of language.

The light was enveloping, and the rain kept coming. In the morning ,at dawn, when the buses would begin again, the sun would be out and hot, and we{d walk with a big basket and 2 little girls to the Saturday morning market.

I Got Rythm, Finally

2007-05-07T16:06:00.000-07:00

Up and at ém Tuesday morning, full of enthusiasm, I joined the others at the breakfast table, semi frantically running Spanish phrases through my head. The whole family was there, including the other housemate, a woman from Colorado about my age.

Her Spanish was much better than mine (especially the first day´s) and she proceeded to bombard me with questions, my fork half way to my mouth. I did the best I could to respond, while the whole family politely ate and listened. But she was a low talker, to boot, and not only could I not understand, I couldn´t hear. Operating on a jet lagged molasses brain rounded out the picture of dull confusion on my part.

I finally had to just ask for uno momento, por favor. Necessito comer. It´s hard to be extra special, super duper polite when you can´t think of any words except a few kindergarden level pleas.

Walking to school was nice escape and a tinge nostalgic. I was assigned my old teacher from last year, the same great young guy who did so well with the our class of ´06. There was just one other student in the class, a retired football coach.

At the break, I kept waiting for all the other classrooms to open and the garden fill with the other students, but except for one couple, there was no one else there. Even they were there for a couple more days.

I have some weird karma; always ending up places where everyone else has cleared out.

Wednesday was the semi finals for a big soccer game, and Heredia was in the line up. Someone tried to get tickets to go to the local stadium for the game, but they were all sold out. La Maestra of the school kindly invited us to her house for the evening, so the four of us went there and watched Heredia win.

Her 12 year old son cheered, jumped up and down, and yelled at the players in a swirling mix of English and Spanish. Very fun.

We all walked home together, along with all the fans pouring out of the stadium, to the serenade of cars honking and people cheering. '¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡ Heredia, Heredia!!!

I woke up Thursday morning feeling rather punky, but went on to yoga class. For the first time in 10 years of practice, I left a class. I just felt too crummy.

I went to school, anyway, and my classmate arrived looking pale, also. Coach said he felt really tired and not so great.

It turned out that several people in our respective houses had some little something. I went home from school and went to bed, where I had a long, shivery night under every blanket and jacket I had with me. But even though it felt like days, it was only a 24 hour ick. All is well now. Not very fun and I´m really glad it passed quickly.

La Maestra told us that the license for Pepto had expired in Costa Rica and it was very hard to find. I felt kind of guilty when I didn´t offer to share my tiny bottle. I know, selfish. Thank goodness I only needed one dose for a slightly queasy stomach. And of course, I had my Cold Eze which really helped, laugh if you will. A virus is a virus.

The point of my medical records run down is that this situation did not, in any way, help my language skills. I felt like my brain was slogging along through very thick mud. I couldn´t think of anything, let alone stutter it out. Frustration is not my best side, and I was so aggravated with myself I was running through a sad story for American Airlines about why I needed to change my ticket.

But that´s one reason I´m doing this. It´s always good to challenge your weaknesses, and being a real impatient, self demanding, gripey gus is one of mine.

Today was great. We had a long conversation in class (in Spanish, of course) about immigration. Coach is from Tucson, and his views were wholly unexpected. There are immigration problems in Costa Rica as well. Other Latin Americans ,from countries not as well off as Costa Rica ,wind up here, and the national debate sounds a lot like ours.

Our Spanish was kind of fractured but our desire to understand each other was pretty intact.

Love you.
Karen

NextÑ Saturday and the Farmer´s Market, Central American Stlye

More Costa Fun

2007-05-06T08:32:00.000-07:00

Its a quiet Sunday morning in Costa Rica, im back in front of a Spanish keyboard that I can t fully operate, and by popular demand, (2 people) I thought I d try to revive mamacitas travel.

This is possible only because of my in house cyber guru (jake) who coaches me as I plod and stumble through the many unfathomable changes of the internet domain. Seems as if Google bought Blogger and I had no idea how to make entries in the new format. Someone (Jake) fixed me all up, and now all I have to do is type on this crazy keyboard and have something semi literate and interesting to say.

If I stop capitalizing mid way thru, bear with. The shift key is in a weird place and i have to stretch my pinkie in an unnatural way. oww. Forget about contraction marks or other puncuation tools like question marks. Where are the right side up ones¿

I arrived last Monday very uneventfully. I had a 5 hour layover in Dallas, and I spent most of it with my nose pressed up against the airport windows, daydreaming that within a 45 minute cab ride I could be getting some Grammylove. I was very, very tempted to try to pull it off, but knew better than to :

A) Leave security and try to return without missing my plane (i d already had my whole backpack dumped and pawed through endlessly, once)

B) Arrive on anyone{s doorstep unannounced and

C) Try to tear myself away from baby slobber, giant, neck compressing hugs and long, involved , funny school girl stories in less than a couple of days. It would have just made it worse.

So I sat and stared and did my best imitation of the mysterious , love sick traveler. ¡Que lastima!

The airport in Costa Rica was easy, just like any other, with duty free goods, liquor and fast foods. Immigration was a breeze, all luggage intact.

Before they would let you out of baggage claim though, you had to put your bags through a single port baggage scanner. Reverse scanning.That was a new one .

Fortunately, I had been quick like a bunny while most people were still at the baggage carousel, trying to gather up their massive amounts of luggage and figure out if they should use the money exchange counters. So I breezed through this step. I imagine that with one scanner, the line could back up.

When I got outside, it was the usual noisy crowd of cab drivers offering rides, hotel personnell holding up their signs , families hugging and back slapping and assorted fellows offering to let you use their cell phones to call your amigos. A smile and a "no gracias, esperando por mis amigos" usually is all it takes. Even if my Spanish isn{t 100 percent correcto.

I scanned the crowd looking for mis amigos but didn{t see anyone I recognized. But everyone is on Tico Time, so no worries.

After 15 minutes or so, I spotted Zaida crusing along the arrival lane, scanning the crowd. No matter how confident you are, that{s always a relief.

"¡Zaida!", I shouted over the noise, waving for her attention. What a great feeling to see her face light up in recognition while she pulled over to the curb. She got out of the car and we had our own session of delighted hugging and exclaiming, loaded up mi maleta and took off for our 20 minute drive to Heredia.

I have to admit, it{s a wonderful feeling to arrive in a country so foreign and far away, and be met by a friend.

We talked all the way to Heredia. Even though it was as I remembered it, there{s always that moment of when you make a cultural shift as you dive into another world.

The town looks like a tumbling crazy quilt of every imaginable style of construction, everything from the best tile and stucco to whatever piece of salvageable building material that can be scavenged. The houses are pressed side by side right up to the sidewalks, which are broken and cracked and made of tile or patched cement. In some places the sidewalks are wide and smooth, in others, they are tiny one person witdths of heaved up concrete, all in the same block.

The whole house, including the driveway, which is sometimes made of beautiful tile, sits behind a locked, iron gate. Behind those gates you can see beautiful homes with gardens and fountains, small, two room apartment style places, and everything in between.

The streets are full of people. Everyone walks, or rides the thundering, diesel belching busses or takes a cab for the equivalent of a dollar or two. The traffic flies by, with a rolling stop and the stop signs and no traffic lights to speak of. Crossing the street is a learned skill.

It{s a different world.

In no time, we arrived at Marias blue gate and rang the bell.

She came and opened it wide, holding out her arms and exclaiming over me in Spanish, hugging and laughing and hugging somemore. I don{t think she thought I would really come back. (Try conjugating that last sentence in Spanish. oww)

I had my old room, bone rattling traffic, rumbling tin roof and all, and when I laid down in bed that night (this time I had the earplugs from the get go), that bed felt as familiar to me as any place I{ve been in the last year.

An unexpected side effect of living on the lam.

Right now, I can hear the church bells ringing, calling all the faithful for their walk to la iglesia. Time for my walk to el Parque Central to watch all the Sunday families.

The children buy bubble mix from the sidewalk vendors, and the air is full of soap bubbles that drift across the park on the humid, ocean drenched wind, right before the afternoon rains.

Love, Karen

Next: School, Language, and Brain Freeze

Instant Karma

2006-10-13T10:15:00.000-07:00

I know I've said that I didn't want to go shopping for fear of bringing more stuff into our temporary digs, but I've had a good reason to be out there this week: Grammy Attack.

It's also been a good excuse to check out the local shops. I've been making the rounds of the stores and trying, with no luck, to find the fancy paper store. I'm not sure if Fresno has more than the Hallmark Cards. Hallmark used to be the best, but they've lost their market share, in my book.

Anyway, I went into a children's store yesterday, in search of the little unique laignappe. The store was well done; pretty, cute, but very, very loud.

They were playing rock on the stereo, and I don't mean Rock A Bye Baby. More like Rock Me Baby All Night Long. And not because I have colic.

They had lots of cute things, though, so I kept shopping, feeling only slightly icky when the female on the stereo started moaning about how she "adores your touch, every move you make is magic every night" etc., etc.

Now I've adored some babies and the touch of their little hands grabbing your finger is indeed a thrill, but I don't think that's what she meant. And ewwwwww. In the kid's store?

When I was ready to pay, the young woman behind the counter couldn't hear my question over the music and I had to lean in and repeat. I decided it was a perfect moment to mention the music.

"That's a strange song to have on in the children's store", I said with a sweet smile and a laugh in my voice.

"Oh, do you think so?" she said with a look of surprise , her eyes gazing upward as she started listening to the music. When she tuned in and heard the words, she blushed. It must be loud background noise to her all day.

"Well, we sell older kids clothes, up to size 16, and that's what they listen to now."

She went over to a long counter across the back wall to run my card and get the wrappings. The name of the store was spelled out in big, metal letters that hung individually on the wall above her head. They were slightly vibrating in time to the bass.

Just as she stepped back to bend down for more paper, one of the letters vibrated right off the wall and crashed to the floor, a mere fraction from her head.

"Oh my gosh!", we both exclaimed.

"Are you okay?", I asked.

"It didn't hit me", she replied. "I can't believe that fell off of there!"

I do know when to keep my mouth shut, so I did.

But I left the store wondering about what she had said. If that's what kids were listening to now, how did she think they found it, through their fillings?

Here's an idea, kids listen to this because someone is bringing it to them, not the other way around. You're not playing it because they demand it, they're demanding it because you're exposing them to it. Constantly.

They hear it because she was playing it, because some parent gave them money to buy it, or parked them in front of a TV that was selling it. Because every adult in their world made it easy to hear, everywhere they went. All the time.

I'm not by any means a rock and roll hater. In fact, I love it. There's nothing like it to make you feel full of life and energy. As an adult, I even like a suggestive lyric now and then. And I'm not suggesting that the store play some syrupy muzak of "This Old Man."

But if our kids are hearing sexual content, not to mention violence, in each and every place they visit, live and play, no wonder they're bored and jaded and overwhelmed and angry. The adult world is in their face every minute and they can't escape.

They can't escape to the empty lot in the neighborhood, the creek at the end of the block, the tree house in the woods, or even unattended in their own back yards.

Or even in a store that sells tiny booties and little hats.

And by the way, someone who wears a Childrens' Size 16 is not really all that old. Let's give the poor kids a break.

The Big Fresno Fair

2006-10-10T13:08:00.000-07:00

Sunday afternoon we went to the BIG FRESNO FAIR. That's how they say it on the news. Even the city map says Big Fresno Fairgrounds.

Was it big? Yeah, kind of.

We tried to go there several times last week. On Thursday , I purposefully didn't eat much all day because what is the Fair without corndogs? And ice cream on a stick? And roasted corn?

Then something came up and we didn't get to go on Thursday. Same thing on Friday. so I was really, really hungry for junk food by the time we got there Sunday afternoon. It was all good, except the ice cream, which was not Fair Worthy. I took a few bites and threw the rest away. No sense wasting junk food points on something that isn't shamefully delicious. I did tell the roasted corn guy not to dip my cob in the huge vat of melted butter, (that sounds funny) not so much out of nutritional saintliness, but because it looked soggy. A little would have been nice, but not an oil slick's worth.

The Fair was also the toughest test of my resolve not to eat beef. I've done really well with that, and haven't had any in months. Despite the "no renunciation without aversion" clause, I didn't feel very averse. Big Bad Bob's BBQ smelled really, really good.

I didn't have any problem feeling averse to the fried chicken sandwich on a Krispy Kreme donought. It might actually taste good, but if it does, I don't want to know. It sounds awful and I think it's best if it continues to stay that way.

Fresno is in the Central Valley of California and it's a huge agricultural producing region. I read in today's Fresno Bee that 80% of the world's lettuce comes from here. This is also the home of Sun Maid raisins. So there was a pretty good produce display.

I've always loved the Home Arts and Ag parts of the Fair. Each year the Home Arts section gets smaller and smaller and the exhibits less and less skilled. I don't think very many people are learning to "put up" (can) fruits and vegetables any more.

We did get lucky enough to see a woman doing a demonstration spinning yarn. It never ceases to amaze me how people think these things up, whether it was the first person to think "hey, I know, I'll take the fur off this animal and make yarn out of it" or the first person who figured out how to make a microchip. How do they do it?

The best thing I had at the Fair was a fruit water I bought in the produce building. They had clear, plastic barrels with different kinds of fruit juice mixed with water. The choices were many; lime, pineapple, jimaica, watermelon, strawberry, and several others that were not familiar. I had the watermelon and it was wonderful. Very light, not too sweet, nothing added. And at $2.00 for a big glass, it was the best bargin there.

We looked at the animals, but most of them had gone home. The little pygmy goats were the cutest, and since the newborn baby lambs were very, very sweet, it was a close contest. Chris was disappointed no pigs put in an appearnance. They probably boycotted since Fair officials so crassly labled their area "Swine". How can you be your best when someone is calling you a swine?

It was fun, but very, very crowded. So after a couple of hours, (and a second corndog) we called it quits. Our car was several blocks away, and we were in an unfamiliar part of town that we hadn't seen on any of the Chamber of Commerce material.

Our walk was uneventful until we passed a fellow sitting on horse back on the lawn of the Fresno County Behavioral Health Dept. He was back under the trees, and the waning moon cast shadows across his face.

At first we thought he was police or a Fair official, on guard against badness. But in the , moonlight we could see his big Stetson, his multi-color, striped shirt the only color under the dark trees. He was sitting as still as a statue, staring straight ahead. He had a tiny smile on his face.

"Howdy", said Chris as we passed.

The horseman dipped his head in a little nod and continued to stare off in the far distance. He looked a little loopy .

Just another day of our new lives in our own personal Big Fresno Fair.

***

2006-10-05T12:54:00.000-07:00

You already know I'm half crazy. This will confirm it.

Styrofoam Head for wigs that I got from my parent's garage sale for Chris to put his Stetson on.
Stetson
Small jewelry box (from my sis)
Candles (3)
Small back pack
Lavender from Yellowstone for the linen closet
Small desk top size fan
Do umbrellas count as clothes?

Every time I open a drawer or a cabinet, something uncounted stares out at me.

I don't know why this list thing is working on me like it is. I dread the arrival of all the stuff in storage. I wish I had the courage to pick a few things out of all that stuff, and walk away from the rest.

I looked at houses yesterday, but haven't seen "the one". So I won't have to deal with the rest of the things I own for a while.

I do miss my tan Diesel tennis shoes, though. They're comfy and go with everything.

My Yoga Home

2006-10-03T21:30:00.000-07:00

In the search for normalcy, I hunted up a yoga studio and went yesterday. It was Anusara style, which was the same type that my teacher Stacy in Laguna taught. She was one of my favorite teachers and I probably made the most progress I've ever made in her class.

I never did get to the point where I could get up in a handstand by myself, though. She tried everything she could think of, but it just never happened. I was able to hold myself up there when I got there, which was progress from my first few attempts. The first time I got up into handstand, my shoulders and arms would only hold me there for mere seconds. Eventually, I could stay there for several minutes, if someone would spot me while I flipped my feet up over my head.

I should have started yoga back in 1980 something.

Ansusara is a flow type of yoga where there's no pause between poses. It's a little strenuous, but fortunately, yesterday's class was a little slowed down. Thank goodness.

Twice last week I dreamed I could do The Wheel, a pose that is a modified back bend, all by myself. So I was motivated to find a studio.

If you haven't been to yoga in a week, it isn't the class that's hard. It's the day after that's tough. Today I'm sore and cranky.

I'm grateful I can walk into a yoga studio, anywhere in the world, and feel instantly at home. Blessings, blessings blessings from yogis everywhere.

Wal Mart: The Ultimate List Tester

2006-10-02T18:52:00.000-07:00

Ever since I wrote the last entry about the things we brought with us, I've been kind of obsessing about the list. It probably isn't all that interesting to anyone but me, but if I ever document my gypsyness, it will come in handy.

So it's been bugging me that I keep seeing things around here that didn't get on the list.
If you're going to do an inventory, it has to be ACCURATE.

It also seems a little deceptive to my 1.5 readers. Here I am claiming to have moved here with those items and those items only, but there's more! Things that didn't even seem big enough to make the list, but there they are, attached to me like Velcro.

In the spirit of complete and transparent disclosure, here's my addendum.

One small, blue vase. It has a flower in it beside my bed.
2 Placemats
4 Cloth napkins
Broom and dust pan
Iron
Cleaning supplies
Mattress pad
2 Decorative pillows
The Mexican blanket that is usually in my car
Tool box
Box of paperwork/files
Shoe shine box
Tiny St. Joseph statue (resides on the kitchen counter since 1995)
My piece of petrified wood that has been in my kitchen window sill every place I have lived since (I think) 1971.
Basket that holds bills, etc.
Cork screw
Travel mug
Ice cream scooper
Manual can opener
Colander

And I'm not counting the individual pieces that make up "the computer", like printer, mousepad, speakers, keyboard, etc. etc. More and more individual items.

As I mentioned, Kitty is now an indoor cat. No more days of roaming around her front door, chasing butterflies, stalking blowing leaves, and sleeping in the sun in the lawn chairs. No wanting to enforce boredom, we bought her some toys, and a carpeted stand that has a little tray on the top that she can sleep on in front of the living room window.

Now the apartment has pet stuff scattered around.

Ususally, I'd rather stand in a center traffic island and breathe exhaust than go to the Wal Mart. But the one lamp in the living room just wasn't enough. We read, and reading requires more than mood lighting. Especially since D.H. likes enough light to land jets or perform surgery when he reads.

Where do you go for cheap, disposable stuff? Wal Mart, of course. So I went there.

As tempting as another shower rack and a new laundry basket were, I stopped with a $10.00 , disposable floor lamp. No wonder monstrous container ships arrive here every day with more and more and more and more things.

On the way home, I drove past a Big Lots. Depsite knowing better, I stopped there, too.

While looking at their cheap, disposable stuff, I found one of those big Italian style posters you see everywhere. The ones in bright colors with circus characters eating spaghetti or drinking champagne on them. It was 50 cents. 50 cents!

I bought it to put on the mantel and have some color in the white, white apartment.

Like metal shavings to a magnet, objects attach and the list grows.

The idea of traveling lightly through the world seems to be in direct opposition to the need to feather a comfortable nest. The amount of things I've left behind in the last few years as we've roamed about the country could, and has, set up several other houses. I've trimmed and trimmed, keeping only the most sentimental or practical things that make up our home.

Of course toting around hundreds of pounds of books isn't very practical and only slightly sentimental.

Strange town, new people, none of your familiar things, forces you to find some other way to feel "at home".

Darling, darling Husband sitting in his chair, reading the paper in full light, watching Monday Night Football while some lasagna is baking in the oven and smelling oh so good is a good start.

We may not know where we are, but we're always at home with each other.

I'm Back But I Don't Know Where I Am

2006-09-29T13:03:00.000-07:00

After a lengthy absence, I'm back on blogspot. We're all moved in to our new little home, a 2 bedroom apartment that would accept Kitty. She's not too happy about being an indoor cat, but I she'll adapt. I've been leaving the windows open so that she can sniff the out of doors and so I can blow out the apartment/carpet cleaning/not your home smell. The biggest insult to her though are the renegade, rule breaking tabbies that come around and stare at her through the doors and windows. I wonder if they'll get busted.

I woke up a couple of mornings ago and had that awful, "don't know where I am" feeling. Now I'm used to this when trying to find the Target or a grocery store in a new town, sometimes years after I've moved there. But to wake up in your rented bed and have no idea at what longitude or lattitude you happen to be spinning, is very disconcerting.

We packed light for this stage of the game. One Jeep load, one car load, and at the last minute, Darling Husband went and rented a tiny trailer so I could bring a few of my bigger plants.

This is what we have with us:

4 plates
4 place settings of silver ware
2 coffee mugs
4 cereal bowls
2 sauce pans
mixing bowl
meausuring cup
knife
big spoon
small baking pan
4 dishtowels
salt and pepper shakers
flask
6bath towels
2 beach towels
set of sheets
2 blankets
bath mats
our pillows
4 suitcases of clothes and shoes
travel alarms
bathroom stuff
boom box/10 CDs
tiny TV
computer
2 folding tables
office chair
2 TV trays
emergency gear/backpacks
yoga mat
remote control airplane
shredder
3 wastebaskets
Kitty paraphenalia

That's it. And it all fit in the vehicles.

We gave away our worn out bed and sofa when we moved. We didn't want to have to move a bunch of stuff from the apartment when we found a house, so we rented a basic apt. furniture pkg.; bed, sofa, chair, dresser, "dinette", coffee table, 2 end tables, 2 lamps.

This way, the movers will bring all our things from storage when we buy a house and we can dismantle the apartment as easily and quickly as it got set up. The rental furniture is surprisingly nice and not expensive at all. The apartment and the furniture is half of what we were paying for our So. Cal. digs.

So we're down to basics and amazingly comfortable. When I think of all the stuff I've given away in the last 5 years, it boggles the mind. Just what is it in that 8,000 pounds of stuff I have in a Southern California warehouse that's so darn important? Of course I have to mention the washer and dryer that came with the apartment. It's not like we're roughing it.

A few years ago, I read an article about a mother and daughter in current day Vietnam. They worked 16 hours a day of hard labor in order to buy food and to rent a back room that got no light in an old apartment building. They had no water or toilet. Their bed was a concrete shelf that they took turns sleeping on just to get up off the floor. No pillow, no mattress.

That image has haunted me; to have no comfort in your world, even a simple pillow, at the end of a grueling day.

My list seems long and rich.

Sixty Days

2006-09-20T23:55:00.000-07:00

Sunday we went to Fresno. Today I drove the four hours home to get ready for the walk thru. We close the house sale on Friday, 32 days after we listed it. We have an apartment in Fresno. All utilities on. They will accept the cat. Less than sixty days ago I was in Costa Rica.

Since I returned, I've also had the Grand Girl and her grandgirls for a visit, gone to Yellowstone for a week, and cleaned and cleaned and cleaned this house, keeping it perfect every damn minute.

That's all I have to say about this. It's been a long day and the packers are coming Friday. I have a lot to do tomorrow, too. I hope Fresno is nice and quiet for awhile, starting Sunday, when we will officially live there.

Now For Something Compeletly Different

2006-09-08T17:30:00.000-07:00

We're in the lull between getting the house ready to sell and the packing process, so my mind turns back again to my new favorite subject: learning Spanish.

Someone suggested that I go back and fix up my blog entries from Costa Rica, now that I'm home and have a keyboard that not only is in English, but has a space bar and a shift button.

But I can't bring myself to toy with the mixed up essence of those entries. Mabye later, but right now they still seem like little pieces of the magic.

So I listen to Spanish radio, watch the Spanish soaps, which are quite entertaining, and translate every sign I see. I have also become a blatant eavesdropper.

The other day I stopped at the mini mart to get a cold drink and a car wash. There was a sign above the soda fountain dispenser in English and in Spanish. Big, bold font. This is what it said:

" No Free Refills".

That was the English.

Now for the Spanish.

"Por Favor, Tienen Pagar Cada Vez Llenan Su Vasa Con Refresco."

After I had translated this, I laughed. Now if you are a Spanish speaker, don't hold me to exactness, but it said,

"Please, You have to pay each time your fill your glass with soft drink. "

This is why I love Spanish and it's such a challenge to learn. Three abrupt words inEnglish, an eloquent request in Spanish. Complete with "please". I know that the English version could have been worded differently, but it wasn't. Same for the Spanish. But I think this was a good example of the different mindsets of the languages.

The English only has one verb conjugation for "you". It might mean one person; "hey you!", or it might mean five people standing there. "Hey you people!".

But in Spanish, there are two different conjugations; one for one person, one for many people.

Not only that, there is the formal "you", what you would say to a guy hooking your car up to a tow truck, or the president of your company, and the informal, personal "you". "You are so wonderful my darling sweetheart", or "you are a good cook, mom."

I think this is a great idea. It makes it all harder to learn, but once you know the road rules, there seems to be a bigger variety of language choices.

I really want to learn to speak in this melliferous manner. It seems so, well, musical. And it would be a good antidote to my tendency to just want to get to the point. !!!!! Now!!!

I know what you're thinking, if you know me. That that's just what we all need; more ways for Karen to talk! And talk. But it won't be so bad. Maybe it will cut down on what I say in English, and you guys can get a break.

When I was in Costa Rica, I had to speak slowly and simply. Some days, I would just give up talking from the sheer exhaustion of trying to get it all right. So I was pretty low key.

So please, don't anybody warn the Spanish speaking world what's in store for them when I get this thing down. They don't need to know, yet.

Sub Atomic Particles and Record Setting Cleaning

2006-09-02T14:15:00.000-07:00

They can talk about how many pebbles are on the beach, fish in the sea, stars in the sky or grains of sand in the hour glass, but I say there are more little specks of unidentified stuff that ruin perfection than any of the above.

I spent the last week polishing the house to a high gloss in order to keep my first see, first offer record intact. I have sold the last three houses to the first person that looked at it, and I wanted to keep my record going. Considering the market here, I didn't think I had a chance. There are tons of open houses every weekend, with more thrown in during the week. Prices are remaining steady, instead of increasing every five minutes like they were when we bought, and interest rates have been rising. So, a buyer's market and I'm the seller.

But still, I was going to give it my very best shot, mostly because I wanted to sell this place and get on down the road.

So I scrubbed the sinks and counters until they were operating room clean. I polished all the faucets until they gleamed. Had the carpets cleaned. Recaulked the tubs. Dusted the ceiling fans. Mowed and trimmed the yard. Cleaned the fountain.
Did every single piece of laundry, ironed and emptied the washer, dryer, laundry room. Took down all light fixture globes and cleaned them.
Emptied the guest room closet, the hall closet and half of the master closet. Made my closet look like a magazine picture with all the hangers matching and lined up the same way, purses at attention on the shelf. Took every personal item off the bathroom counters. Bought some new towels and folded them into oragami like perfection.
Took all the appliances off the kitchen counter and replaced them with a big bowl of oranges. Bought 50.00 worth of flowers and made arrangements all over the house.
Washed the windows, inside and out.
CLEANED THE INDSIDE OF THE DISHWASHER FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE! Did you know it can get dirty? There's more, but I'm getting re-exhausted remembering it all.

And the more I polished, the more specks of matter appeared everywhere. Pieces of lint clinging to the ceiling fan blades. Pollen from the flowers drifting down in a circle around the vases. Pieces of unidentified greenery on the kitchen counter. Dust magically arising from the surface of a just shined mirror.

No wonder no one can committ a crime without leaving trace evidence behind. No matter how hard you try, these little specks of stuff cannot be eliminated. They turn up everywhere. The more you strive for perfection, the more they multiply.

This was on the micro side of the ledger. On the macro plane, there was another whole range of offenses. Shoes and more shoes left laying around the house. Cat paw prints on a bedspread that had just been made to quarter bouncing tautness. A blizzard of pine needles from the neighboring trees blanketing a freshly mown and raked yard. Bath tubs that must be cleaned after every use. Wiliting flowers that must be replaced. Perfection is a tyranical master.

Don't even think about trying to live in a house and keep it at this level of antiseptic all the time. Husband asked me the other day if we still had a toaster. Of course we do! It's just put away where the sight of it won't offend the model home concept. And for the love of pete, don't get any crumbs anywhere!!!

Thank goodness, to my sheer delight and wonderment, the first person who looked at the place made an offer! If the universe sees fit, we close at the end of the month.

Now go and eat all the toast you want, darling. My record's intact.

The Joke's On Me

2006-08-29T10:00:00.000-07:00

I should have learned by now that any time you think you've got extra hours, the universe laughs.

As soon as I got everything in perfect showing condition yesterday, the toilet broke. I had an ant attack in the kitchen. The photgrapher came to take pictures. The realtor who said he was coming at noon never showed up, but another one came half an hour early.

Fortunatly, I had just finished fixing the toilet.

I was very proud that I fixed it all by myself. Most of the these things are never as hard as you think they're going to be. The hardest part is not panicking when you realize that you're going to have to think mechanically.

After weathering that crisis, I got up this morning and felt like I had lots of time today. How should I spend this windfall? Then I realized:

1. I had stuffed 5 loads of clean laundry in the dryer yesterday for want of a place to put it since I didn't have time to fold it.

2. The refrigerator was empty, empty, empty.

3. The pond/fountain had sprouted some kind of green algae in yesterday's heat.

4. The stack of checking account receipts that I had been stuffing in the check book exploded out of the drawer when I opened it to add more.

5. The flowers by the front door, that I had plunked into pots, still in their original containers, were half dead. Not an attractive welcome. If they were to live, they needed re-potted.

6. There is more, but the rest is in the Thousand Cuts category. You know, little things that are nothing by themselves, like cleaning the cat paw prints off the sliding door, but when added all together can bleed your time to death.

The worst of this is that it triggers my barely latent OCD. Obssesive. Compulsive. DisOrder.
And when that kicks in, there is no stopping. I find myself endlessly circling, trying to perfect the Universe, which keeps reverting to it's natural, chaotic state.

I still say I want to come back next life to a world that tends toward order, and it takes energy to create chaos. Sounds a lot more fun.

AND, all these efforts that suck time right down the drain are so, so petty in the scheme of things. What dumb stuff to spend your precious time dollars on.

But as far as Real Estate Dollars are concerned, I want my equity back! So therefore, I obsess.

I wonder what little surprise awaits today? I just hope I can fix it as easily as I did the toilet.

Sunday Evening, Coming Down

2006-08-27T20:44:00.000-07:00

Ho hum. I think I've become an adrenalin junkie.

After the crazy last few months, the prospect of selling our house and moving back to northern California seems just like another project. I spent the last two weeks in the house scrubbing and rubbing. Now it's scrubbed clean and rubbed to a fancy, decorated shine. It looks better than it ever has, and I'm wondering why I never put this much effort in it when we lived here. Hmmm.

Now all I have to do is keep it perfect and wait for the offers to come rolling in. Since we are once again at the wrong end of the real estated see saw, that seems optomistic. I sure would like to repeat my best real estate trick of selling to the first looker. I know it's asking a lot to make it four times in a row, but maybe!

Now I'm all done with this stage and I can't really do anything else towards the move until we have a contract. No projects around the house, no starting anything around here that requires a commitment. No travel. It appears there is going to be a couple of weeks of downtime.

And it seems so wrong.

I guess I'll just make the most of it and try to do little or nothing for a few days. But what, she asks? It seems very weird not to have a booked up calendar or a big project that needs done right this minute.

This is a good problem to have. I'm sure I can come up with something.

I'll have to leave the house, though. I can't mess anything up. I just hope I don't find myself signing up for 3 Easy Skydiving Lessons or something.

Addiction to adrenalin is a dangerous thing.

They Shoot Eardrums, Don't They?

2006-08-20T10:25:00.000-07:00

I think it's a conspiracy. Last weekend it was horseback riding, and last night it was a country western concert. I thought my people loved me, but they keep making me do this uh, stuff.

Darling Husband aquired 2 tickets to the Faith Hill/Tim McGraw concert in L.A., and never being one to turn down a party, we had to go. It was in one of those suites, where you have food and beverages, thank goodness, because I needed the drink.

After several commercials for McGraw's movie, played on big TV screens, the singers finally took the stag via trap doors in the floor that opened up with them rising up from underground.

The concert was on a round stage, with four "arms" at north, south, east and west. The floors were all lit up. Great lighting. Pop op swirls in bright blues, yellows and reds, red roses, and various other patterns and colors.

Faith Hill sang first to a tepid response. I think most people were there for him. The reviews in the paper said he was great, she wasn't. Wouldn't want to be there for the ride home with that husband and wife. Ouch.

While she was belting out her songs, a few I recognized from TV commercials, or Oprah, or somewhere, I kept thinking about all the smart aleck remarks I could make. Like how this pop stuff seemed so souless, despite the name of the tour (Soul2SoulII). Or forget about rock, I couldn't understand any single word she said, except something about how you should breathe. Or maybe that her attempts to act sexy had kind of a furtive, let's do the moves before the kids wake up and I need to drive them to soccer practice.

Anyway, I felt bad about being so snide, even in my own head. After all, somehow she was out there performing, leaving herself open to the critics' peanut gallery made up of people like me who let their fears stand in the way of producing anything themselves. Who was I to be so harsh? Let's all just live and let live, and try to enjoy a free ticket.

Then she closed her set with Janis Joplin's "Another Piece of My Heart".

That did it.

I could feel poor Janis spinning, and not with boggie woggie. Those two singers might both be Southern white girls, but that's where the resemblence ended.

Janis sang that song like her heart was breaking, like there was more pain in her world than she could stand, like it all just might be the undoing of her. Which, as we know, it was.

Faith sang it like she wasn't dying of heartbreak, but like she was collecting $ 10, 653. 42 after taxes for the performance. What a travesty.

We had to watch another commerical for the film, and then a commercial about the McGraw/Hill romance. Lots of pictures of them going about their daily life, riding horses, gazing soulfully, being playfully coy under a gauzy, soft focus lense. ugh.

Then Came Tim.

The women went crazy. This was clearly what they came for . Lots of cheering, clapping and wiggling in the seats. The DJ said "Here he is ladies, a realllllly gooood man!!!!!"

I think that's what the appeal is, the image of the strong, faithful, romantic Western family man.
Am I wrong, but weren't these two married to others when they met? I may have them confused with a dozen other celebrities, and if so, I apologize.

Anyway, up he came from the netherworld below stage. He and Faith did a duet enclosed in a gauze tent that was lit up all soft focus red, with red lights kind of pouring down the compass point arms of the stage.

It looked like a hospital tented blood bath, but maybe that was just my ears bleeding.

Tim got a little more enthusiasm when he started his solo set, but how would you know it was him? He had on a huge black cowboy hat and the de riguer (did this smart aleck spell that right?) chin whisker/mustache so it was hard to see his face.

When I asked Darling Husband what was up with the rubber cowboy hat, he informed me it was LEATHER. It sure looked like rubber, all black and shiny.

I wouldn't be able to pick the guy out of a police line up, but I would recognize his giant gold belt buckle anywhere. After all, it was bigger than his face.

I know, I know, some people hate the music I like and could rif all day long on how bad it is. Music is very subjective.

But gosh, if you can't understand the words, your ears ring for days, the ticket is overpriced and the crowd pushy, you ought to at least go home feeling up and full of jazz, not like I needed to warn Darling Husband to hide his guns when we got home.

That being said, I kind of like Loretta Lynn. So don't shoot me.

The Wild Life

2006-08-15T17:29:00.000-07:00

I thought I'd seen something wild many times in my life but I really saw wild life in Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons.

We got up earlyand ate breakfast at the aptly named Moose Junction.

It was an outfitter's type of place, where they cooked up sourdough pancakes in an outdoor kitchen and you ate breakfast at picnic tables in the pines.

We were layered up because even on a sunny morning in August, it's cold. Later in the day the sun feels like a burning beam lasering through the thin air straight onto your skin. But in the morning, you can fog your breath.

We took a trail reported to lead to a beautiful lake view and not be too crowded with other hikers. We set off, back packs, picnic lunch and we hoped, enough water.

It was a beautiful 1.7 mile hike up to the lake, the view was the usual Grand Teton Spectacular. We were still feeling pretty fresh, so we decided to press on. There were rumors of waterfalls up ahead.

So we took off ever upward, through pines and more pines. The night before I had been laying in bed in my little cabin, the window open to the night air and stars.

"Wow, someone around sure has on a lot of perfume", I thought. "Or maybe someone's been cleaning today." I lay there for a few minutes, overwhelmed with scent and trying to decide if I should close my window, or if the perfume person would go away. The breeze shifted and I laughed when I realized that what I was smelling was millions of pine trees.

Today the pines were as potent as ever, the air thin and clear, the sun getting hotter the higher we climbed. Off came the layers and our handy zip leg pants turned into shorts.

The sound of rushing water up ahead drew us on, and sure enough, there was a little waterfall. We took a break on the banks of the creek, splashing our faces and dipping our feet into the clear, icy water. Then back to the trail.

As we came around a bend, dozens of orange and white butterflies were startled up out of the low lying brush. They swooped and swirled in front of us, a tiny winged cloud.

Our photographer moved ahead on the trial to get pictures, and we saw her suddenly freeze.

"Shh", she whispered back to us, her eyes big. "Look!" she said as she pointed into the brush just off the trail.

There he was, his head popping up a little above the brush; a baby moose! He was a big ol' baby! His head was rather large, and he had a long pointed face, his jaw kind of moving side to side as he munched down on daisies. Looked a little like a camel.

We were savvy enough to realize that if there was a baby, mom had to somewhere close by. We were betting she was bigger and might not want us coming too close to her baby.

We stood transfixed in the middle of the trail, baby contentedly chewing away, but no sign of mama. Baby didn't seem the least bit worried about us, but you know how kids are.

After a few minutes, we decided to tip toe by, hoping we wouldn't encounter enraged maternity, and as we passed down the trail, someone spotted the back end of Mama Moose pulled in under a bunch of low hanging trees. She never even turned around!

Although we would have liked to see her, we felt it best to just walk away quietly, leaving her to knitting.

Now this was wildlife viewing! The day before, when we had taken the river tour, I had seen a bald eagle for the first time. No wonder these birds have such a myth around them. They are beautiful, big and majestic looking.

There's lots of wild life in Yellowstone and the Tetons, but most of the time people are seeing it at the side of the road from their cars. They get out, take pictures, and generally stare at an animal that is just trying to eat grass or walk around or do whatever living they're doing.

It all seems a little like an open air zoo, and sometimes I felt very bad mannered to be staring with the rest of the gaping humans. Except for the swimming buffalo. I had to stare then.

We saw him as we were driving back to Jackson Hole. The afternoon was cloudy with some mist. The sun was still shining hot behind the curtain of rain clouds, so the light seemed to be falling with the mist. We slowed down to see all the buffalo at the side of a river and watched while one walked down the bank.

To our surprise, he stepped into the river and started swimming with the current, his big, brown head bobbing as he held it above the water, the mist and the light surrounding his suddenly light, bobbing body as he swam and was carried by the current to the opposite shore.

But seeing the moose right in his home, passing by on the trail and tipping the proverbial hat as we passed, made us seem more like fellow Earthlings.

Onward and upward though, higher and higher up the mountain.

After about an hour, we came to a level plateau that had a view of the lake far below. It looked like an illustration from a fairy tale. The lake shimmered blue in the sun, reflecting back the even bluer sky. The pine trees at the shoreline, looked like perfectly placed triangles, broad at the base and narrowing to a point just ready to be crowned with the rays of the sun that danced off the water.

At this sublime moment, a cell phone rang.

Down below, service had been adequate, but unreliable. I guess up on the top of the mountain the signals came through. Our hiker realized it was the message notice beeping at her, so she checked voice mail.

"I can't tell if my message said 'Have you seen the news' or 'Have you seen the moose'?" she said.

At the same time, another of our hikers recieved a text message, and we realized, before we could laugh, that the messages were about the news and what was happening out in the rest of the world.

So now we knew about the terrorist plot to blow up planes, confiscate our shampoo and make our hair look bad if we could keep our scalps.

This was not happy news, especially in that beautifully sublime place. For the rest of our hike, when we would pass someone on the trail, we heard them talking about getting phone messages from concerned love ones about the news.

It's so easy to feel angry at these people who have given their lives to death and fear and terror. Do they ever see the magnificence of this world, the one full of love and beauty?

The Earth in her oblivious glory tolerates each sucessive generation walking on her back, doing whatever we will do, for good or for ill. Since the days of the caveman we have walked in danger. Then it was the tiger, today the terrorist.

People have the choice to live their lives as part of the beauty of the world, or to bring fear and suffering to it's face.

I choose Beauty, and anger isn't beautiful.

And I hope none of the phone companies get wind of how great the reception is up on that mountain. I'm sure that news would not be good for the moose.

So You Want To Be A Cowgirl

2006-08-13T18:02:00.000-07:00

In spite of the most recent attempts by some to turn the world into a roaring furnace from hell, I am home from Yellowstone safe and sound, minus some shampoo. My hair doesn't look so good, but I am great otherwise.

We had fun celebrating a significant birthday of two of our crew, spending a week in the Grand Tetons, hiking, touring the river, and riding horses.

The horse riding was certainly not my idea, but my girlfriend fancys herself a cowgirl, and she's stuck by me for 25 years. I was obliged. Besides, I figured if I could white water raft for the first time so successfully, (meaning I didn't die and I actually enjoyed it) I could certainly ride a horse for the first time, too.

I may have been wrong about this.

We got ready for this adventure the night before by making and decorating our own individual straw stetsons. These were thoughtfully provided by the birthday girl, along with various decorative flowers, beads and birds.

A bottle of wine, a hot glue gun and several blistered fingers later, we had the proper Western attire in which to ride horses. We really looked authentic. I'm only telling this because it will turn up in the pictures.

These hats will go down in history along with the cat eye rhinestone sunglasses that we wore everywhere on our last trip.

The next morning we got up early and drove for 45 minutes to the horse ranch, which turned out to be a big corral of dozens of horses, millions of pine trees and one smelly outhouse. The young Italian cowboy in chaps was the best thing for miles around.

The lady who took our money remarked on our straw cowgirl hats.
Another cowboy, an older man with a real hat, walked up leading one of our horses. The lady introduced us and pointed out our hats. Not that you could miss them.

"Look at the hats these ladies made! Aren't they just so cute?" she asked him.

He squinted a look over at Sandi, who had put her bird on the crown of the hat.

"A little birdie", he drawled as he cinched the saddle tighter on her horse.

It turned out that he was the Trail Boss.

"Line up ladies " he said, standing in front of a step that we would use for mounting the horses. He inspected us with a practiced eye.

"Okay, you there, " he said pointing to one of us. " You come here and ride on ol' Chico. Next, I think you should get over here on Half and Half", he said pointing to another. "And you, say hello to Jess."

That left me with a small horse called M&M. From the first minute she was led up to the step, she didn't look happy, kind of tossing her head and trying to look back at the coral. She was supposed to be a good horse for inexperienced riders, or so they said. I tried to tell them I was worse than inexperienced, if this were possible. I don't think they were listening.

The cute Italian held the lead rope while I got up in the saddle, trying to look more confident than I felt.

We took off, following Trail Boss. Within minutes, there was trouble.

The horses didn't seem to like their positions and began jockeying around to try to get the right pecking order.

My horse kept trying to get in front of another horse, and this didn't go over well. Chico and Half &Half tried to block her from moving up in line and suddenly I was in the middle of horses turning around and around in tight circles. Then my horse laid her ears back and began kicking. Our relationship was not going well.

Somehow, I managed to separate her from this cluster, but then she turned and started heading back to the corral. I did everything I was supposed to to turn her around, following all directions being yelled at me by the guide and girlfriends, but M&M just kept heading for the barn.

"Turn her around!" Trail Boss yelled.

"Pull on the reins!" Girlfriends yelled.

"It isn't working", I yelled.

I figured she knew way more about this deal than I did, and I wasn't about to try to exert my will on this big, breathing creature. So I just waved over my shoulder and let her go. I thought I would just calmly ride her, grateful she wasn't running, unitl we got back to the Italian muchacho and I would wait for a couple of hours while my friends enjoyed their rides. Maybe he and I could pass a pleasant two hours enjoying the scenery.

This was not to be. The trail boss came back and in thinly disguised disgust, took the lead rope and said he would just guide her for a while. She would be all right. She! What about me?

With lead rope firmly in hand, we set off down the trail again, me in the humiliating positon of being lead while he kept up a low, tuneless whistle, riding a mule named Sam.

My girlfriends were about to choke to death from trying not to laugh.

I got back a little of my pride when he explained that M&M didn't ususally go with this group of horses and she wanted to be with her ususal posse. She didn't like these other horse companions and that was why she was so fussy.

"Horses are very social animals", he said.

Well I knew that! I read Seabiscuit.

This whole concept of sitting on top of another being with a will and a brain, although small, was disconcerting. It didn't seem much different to me than approaching a stranger on the street, throwing my arms and a rope around them and wrestling with them down the sidewalk while they huffed and puffed and made a few attempts to get control of the situation.

It's almost intimate, without an introduction or a getting to know you period. I could feel her huge barrel ribs under my knees move in and out with each breath. When she started sneezing from all the dust Sam the Mule kicked up in front of her, I felt sorry for her. When it got hot, she got all sweaty. And let's don't even talk about a horse's sense of bathroom privacy. There isn't any.

I tried to relax and just go with the experience. After all, it was Wyoming in the Grand Tetons. We went along through the forest, then open meadows and across little streams, all under the bluest sky, the air so thick with the scent of pine it almost burned when you inhaled.
A Western fantasy come true.

Then we started going up and down hills.

The first incline we approached struck fear in my heart. It didn't matter that I was being led, or that the other girls seemed to be doing just fine. I had visions of this cranky horse deciding rope or no rope, she wasn't going. Then she would raise up like those sillohettes you see on every Western thing , front hooves pawing the air while someone is holding on for fear of permanent paralysis.

We went up the hill and down the hill. . We clambered our way to the top of a mountain , little rocks and pebbles falling down the side of the hill with almost every step. I never got used to it.

But at the top of the mountain, we were rewarded with breath taking views of the valley below. The vista stretched out for miles, full of blue sky, pine trees, and the Snake river shining in the sun, winding along like liquid mercury spilled on the valley floor.

We had a photo op, and then started down. Trail Boss told me he didn't need to lead M&M anymore. Now that we were headed home, she would agree with me about where we should go. To complete my humiliation, one of my friends asked me if I had enjoyed my pony ride.

The trail down the mountain was steep and narrow, barely wider than the horse's hooves. Every time a hoof slipped, or a equine head tossed, or a squeal from a girlfriend rent the air, I knew it was my last moment on earth.

I tried to put myself into the moment, thinking about what it must have been like to depend on animals for transportation and companionship. I never could forget that I was sitting on top of a powerful mass of muscles and I had no steering wheel. I could have walked the ten miles back to the barn far, far more easily than I could ride it. Even if it was bear country.

That was another thing I was sure was going to kill us all, a bear popping out of the trees and spooking the horses.

Then we came to the river crossing.

Up until this moment, my horse had followed along behind Sam the Mule like a dutiful wife keeping 3 paces behind. But the minute she stepped into the river, she started off in another direction, straight to the only pool of deep water around.

She started pawing one leg in a swimming like motion, splashing water and shaking her mane. The girls called out, "what is she doing?" while their horses forded the stream with no deviation from plan.

In one of the few moments of horsewomanship I showed that day, I guided M&M back to her spot behind the leader. Trail Boss told me that she had been preparing to swim, and at the next crossing, to pull back on the reins and keep her head up.

Surprisingly, those moments in the water were the only ones all day when I wasn't afraid. At least if I went down, I would be cushioned by water.

The rest of the ride was relatively calm. We crossed a few more creeks, that while picturesque, provided other potential swimming opportunites.

We saw no bears or rattlesnakes, just brush that whipped us in the face and stripped feet from stirrups.

We went back for dropped sunglasses and shirts, and I managed to make M&M stand still and not follow Sam the Mule back into those tight little twirling horse circles.

Soon we were almost back to the starting point of this adventure. As we came alongside the coral with all the other horses, M&M started trying to trot, whinying and tossing her head. It was all I could do to hold her back. She wasn't slowing down or following anyone anymore. Trail Boss tried to manuever Sam in front of her, and this rammed my knee right into an indelicate place. Sam didn't seem to notice.

M&M went right past where the other girls were pulling their horses up to a fence and headed straight for the step, circling it several times. Clearly she wanted me to get. off. her .back.now!

The Boss came up and grabbed her rope again, stopped her long enough for me to get down, and explained she was ready to get back to her companions.

On safe and solid ground, I felt like someone and put an I beam between my knees, and it was only the sight of one of the other girls walking up to me with both her knees bent like someone had right angled them with a speed square that restored my good humor.

Am I glad I did this? Yes and no. Yes because it's always good to face your fears. It's good to try something new. It's good to make a fool of yourself and stay humble. No because two hours of fear stresses your immune system and all your heart valves. No because it is just weird to sit on somebody you don't know, and pull their head around to make them do what you want.

But yes and yes and yes again because it's always good to show up for a friend.

Swimming With The Grandgirls

2006-08-02T22:31:00.000-07:00

What a fun day! Is there anything in the world more sweet and wonderful than a grandchild?

Why is Playdough so much more fun now than ever before? No one ever liked my creations more than the two little blond girls at my house. My purple Playdough jewelry is beootiful, my neon green heart shaped "cookies" are the best, everything is wonderful, wonderful, until someone is crying like their heart will break, and tiny, tiny little tears roll down their cheeks.

Swimming is better than ever when your buddy wears water wings, and you both get dizzy from spinning each other around and around in the water. Laps are more exhilarting when you're pacing the new team member who is attempting the end to end pool lap for the first time, and all the time carrying the junior varsity rookie on your back, little arms clinging tightly around your neck.

Crossword puzzles are much more intriguing when late at night, a little helper is sitting in the chair next to you, all snuggled up and reading the word clues with you.

And just when you're full of sweetness, a tiny little thing comes in from an outing with Gramps, carrying a plastic bag as big as she is, filled with Haagen Daz bars for everyone.

Sweet beyond belief.

Back on the Faster Fast Track

2006-07-31T16:01:00.000-07:00

I'm in my usual state of hurry up. Tammy and the girls arrive tonight, and although I didn't do my usual get ready, I'm still out of time.

I've kind of given up the school of Entertaining for the Insane. I did manage to clean the bathroom, and I will make fried chicken. I had to get some little gifts for the girls! And I did clean up the 20 pounds of pine needles out of the front yard. Clean linens. Well of course! And those few other things, just one or two. Oh well, I guess I'm still slightly insane.

I leave on Friday for Yellowstone, so I had to do all the paperwork that stacked up the last month. Why oh why do insurance and billing companies make you wait on hold until you've grown roots. Things would go so much quicker if they would just add more phone lines or hire more people, or if all else fails, send it to somewhere in Asia to be answered. I don't care, just answer the phone!

I tried sending some emails to my Spanish speaking friends in Costa Rica today. They may have received a strange and garbled message telling them that I had many good things to know if I was their friend when I hope I went to Costa Rica. I hope they can read between the lines.

Computer in the guest room, Chris disabled the wireless router, no computers at Yellowstone.

Darn! I was starting to kind of dig this blog stuff.

Geosynchronicity

2006-07-28T17:53:00.000-07:00

Costa Rica seems like it's retreating in the distance already. Last Friday I was walking all over Heredia in the rain. Today, it was the Albertsons.

I've been trying to figure out what was so appealing about just plain everyday life there. The town was old and worn, and dog poop on the sidewalk took some getting used to. ( And I thought it was gross to see dogs here using the public grass, lawns and parks for toilets. ) Good thing there was rain every afternoon!

So many of the things I take for granted, like lots and lots of hot water, driving a car, understanding every bit of the chatter I hear every day, were absent from daily life. Lora and I decided that one of the reasons we had trouble making connections the first few days is that we've grown very dependant on cell phones.

"Where are you? You're late!"

"I'm waiting for you 100 yards away on the OTHER side of the park"

We've become so used to being in constant touch, our inner compasses have gone dormant.

For the last 30 days I walked more, ate simpler, smaller meals, and on a very regular schedule. I wore the same few clothes I had with me over and over, (but of course in stunningly artistic and clever combinations). I didn't drive. I sat still for four hours a day concentrating on learning a whole new way to communicate.

The yogis keep telling us to live in the moment. It wasn't until my moments slowed down that I could start to see how it is done.

You can't live in the moment if you're always doing two things at once, driving while talking on the phone, hearing, but never listening, gulping down your meal while cleaning the kitchen or negotiating the freeway.

Time moves at a more human pace when you're walking to the store. If there is only 3 minutes of hot water, you appreciate and NOTICE those 3 minutes. If you need to leave the house to work on the computer, your time in front of the screen is more focused. Of course paying by the half hour makes this even more imperative.

Almost nothing in our everyday world supports this way of life. We drive everywhere, we use and use and buy and buy stuff. Abiltiy to multi task has almost become a yardstick of character. Even the food we eat and the way we eat it has become just another chore to find some way around.

Last week the dinner table was crowded with people, all of us talking with loving and focused concentration on what each person was saying, trying to truly understand one another.

After dinner, Chris and John and I walked to a corner restaurant and had a beer, and then walked slowly home under the street lights of our neighborhood.

I want to keep this Costa Rican feeling alive and growing, and not have it just fade into a quaint memory. I promise I will reset my inner compass.

After all, I don't really need to bounce a signal thousands of miles to an orbiting satallite in order to keep an appointment with a friend.

I'm Reduced to the Radio

2006-07-27T21:47:00.000-07:00

I really miss the sound of Spanish all around me. It's amazing how much you pick up just getting your ears into it.

One night at the dinner table, Maria, John, my housemate, and Josue, the 10 year old whose house we were sharing, and I were talking about our efforts to learn Spanish. Josue is taking English in school. For some reason, we picked the word "refrigerator" to compare in Enlgish and in Spanish.

We all could say it in Spanish with no problems. Ree FREE herr a dor. Then we started trying to teach Josue how to say it in English.

Ree FRIG er rate or.

He tried several times to get his mouth to say the word in English. Instead of the rolling, rounded of sounds of Spanish, he tried to make the syllables sharp and square as they sound in English. He just couldn't get it. Eventually, he managed to spit out something like

REE FIG E A OR. Very robotic. I never realized how gutteral English is until you heara new learner trying to speak it.

I really don't want to loose this ablitlity to understand a whole new set of words. I've been given the new decoder ring that will help me to understand a big part of the world that used to be totally inaccessible, if I could just figure out how to work the thing.

I need to find a speaking buddy. Somehow Spanish soap operas and the Spanish radio stations don't quite substitute for the patient, concerned, often hilarious dinner time conversations I was having last week. I feel like someone with their ear to a glass pressed up against the wall in order to hear the secret conversation going on in the next room.

On the up side, on these Spanish radio stations I'm finding some really great new music. Now if only I could be really sure the DJ was saying the name of the band, and not advertising something for a music store.

I've got a ways to go.

Espanol y mi

2006-07-24T21:30:00.000-07:00

Yo quierro decir que tuve un buen tiempo cuando fui en Costa Rica. No esparo tener asi mucho divertida. Yo me gusta aprender espanol, y yo quierro regressar a Costa Rica pronto. Mi tiempo en Costa Rica fue un experienca mejor de mi vida.

I can't begin to explain how much fun it was to learn Spanish. When I went there, my main goal was to just try to recapture some of the Spanish I sort of learned in high school. One day last week, we were studying verbs in the past tense, and it all seemed kind of familiar. I realized it was the same stuff we did in 9th grade, but back then, it all seemed so difficult. Maybe it was because I was spending most of my time passing notes to David Tanner. This time, it seemed like a mystery I could really solve.

I had so much fun using my brain in a new way. I love the idea of having a whole new set of words, language, ways of expression, communication tools, just sitting there available for me to discover and use.

At first, it just seemed like it was a matter of memorizing facts or words. But after constant exposure, things begin to change.

We heard Spanish all day long. We heard it on the street, in class, on the TV, when the kids were fussing in the living room. Even blasting from a loud speaker mounted on the roof of a pick up truck that trolled around town advertising this and that. Hola, hola, hola Heredia ! Venga! Veinte y dos de julio!

After all this constant and subconcious exposure , I started to really pick up the rythym. Spanish is a very melodic language that sounds like someone speaking while they gently roll a piece of candy between their lips. The words are round and soft. It's seductive. Pretty soon, you can kind of tell when you have said something in the wrong order.

And let me tell you, Spanish is very backwards from English.

My teacher kept saying "don't translate literally."

And for this very literal thinker, it's hard. If it translates as "I give you my arm " when they mean they like you a lot, I"ll be worried that someone is really about to give me a body part.

It was funny to see everyone start to garble their English about week three. Me no like that . No wait, that's not right. No me gusta.

This experience of learning was the most fun I've had in a long time. . So very amazing that at some point in human history, every one got together and agreed that when they made certain sounds with their mouths, everyone else would know what they meant. How did they ever dream it all up?

All I can say, in any language, is wow. Bring it on.

Back in the USSA

2006-07-24T21:17:00.000-07:00

Friday the 21st was our last day in Heredia. I went to class in the morning while Chris took the coffee plantation tour. Everyone at IPED was in a last day of school mood, and we did more talking, laughing and hugging goodbye than learning Spanish.

Chris and I spent a rainy afternoon walking around town, under our umbrellas and getting our feet wet, returning loaned items and dropping off gifts. I couldn't believe I was actually leaving.

At our Costa Rican home, we told all the kids goodbye, exchanged email addresses, and did even more hugging. Maria and I promised each other we would see each other again, and we both had to break away and fuss around with suitcases, keys and kids in order not to start crying.

The night before, Maria had fixed a big dinner, and we had our last evening at home. We had her whole family, plus a niece, Chris, and John, our housemate. We sat around the dinner table and talked. In Spanish, of course.

After several rounds of picture taking, the bus arrived . Onec again, Luis drove us safely to our destination, which was the San Jose Marriott, thanks to one of the kids' dad.

The hotel was a world class beauty. The big tub of hot water, the huge fluffy towels and the king size bed with all the downy pilows, seemed like diving right into an overly rich dessert; fun while you're doing it, but too much too fast can leave you feeling a little queasy. The luxuries we take for granted and really, deep down, believe are necessities, can seem pretty indulgent after a month with no hot water.

In the morning, we had to tip the bellman extra to come for all the girls' luggage. They had stayed in one room, and the bellman even waded in to the hurricane of towels and tossed about bed sheets to make sure they hadn't left anything behind. They usually did. But after looking under the beds and behind the doors, they determined that everything was somewhere on the two piled high luggage carts.

The San Jose airport was busy, but orderly, the Dallas airport was big and shiny and new and that's where we said our brief goodbyes to our group.

Chris and I went on to LA where it was crowded and at full roar at midnight. After waiting forever for a shuttle to take us to the car, we drove south on the 405 and encountered a huge traffic jam.

After waiting for about 20 minutes, we jumped the curb and exited, winding around the city streets. It was 1:15 am.

We got home about 2:00. Kitty had waited up for us.

Sunday morning I woke up and realized I had been dreaming in Spanish. Chris said I had a smile on my face. Well.......yeah.

Hurrying thru paradise

2006-07-20T17:16:00.000-07:00

once again i,m in a hurry and today i have been assigned a computer that has a completely spanish keyboard. i can{t find the shift for capitals. lo siento.

chris and i spent the morning at the la paz waterfalls and butterfly gardens. truly, truly beautiful. the butterflies were every color of the rainbow, neon green, iridescent blue, black with red spots, and some that had orange on the end of their wings. when they would flutter, it looked like the tips of their wings were going in circles. little helicopter butterflies.

in the hummingbird garden, you could sit down and hold out a little plastic flower that was a feeder, and the hummingbirds would come and feed from your flower, their wings moving so fast and close, it made a tiny breeze across the surface of your hand. they too were neon colors, bright blue and green shimmering in the misty sunlight. tiny little birds darted back and forth across the garden, singlely or in little clouds of wings and color.

down the trail and through a thick jungle canopy, the waterfalls were sending up a roaring spray of mist and water. i,m sure the world didn{t look much different in this spot 400 years ago.

Ferns grew from the rock walls on either side of the river, and for hundreds of yards downstream, they were waving back and forth as if they were in a blowing wind. it was totally still up on river bank. it was the power of the water pouring over the falls that disturbed the air.

What beauty there is in this world, and how wonderful to get a chance to see it so closely, with no barriers, no legalese signs of warning, no sanitized, risk free, totally fake disney like nature.

Chris is going to have a hard time getting me on that plane.

He Arrived!

2006-07-19T14:11:00.000-07:00

Chris arrived safe and sound and only an hour delayed last night. I´m really happy to see him and we´re having a fun time seeing everything from a new pair of eyes.

We went to San Jose today with my class to a great musuem. Now we´re back in Heredia, had a pizza and an Imperial Beer, and or course, it´s really raining. I´ts the first time I´ve seen Chris carry an umbrella. Or for men, a paragua. Mine is called a sonrisa. But when in Rome and all that.

Sorry, no time right now for more. I´m being the Spanish interpreter tour guide. Hope we don´t wind up in the Antartic.

Lluvia, Lluvia Go Away

2006-07-18T18:36:00.000-07:00

Avery quick note on a rainy night before I go with Guido to pick up Chris at the aeropuerto. I just got an email from Denna saying he has been delayed an hour. It{s going to be a late evening for all.

A lot of the studends here talk about the frustration of not being able to just pick up a new language and run with it. We expect to tackle the project and be fluent in five easy lessons, or less. But it takes time.

I really wanted to be so fluent when Chris arrived, that I could spin latin phrases with speed and grace. But I{m still at the think. say. think. say say say. think. huh? stage. The second week I was here, I went to the market all ready to take it on. I needed to buy a t shirt at this place where you could choose your own picture and they would put in on while you waited.

I happened to get a young teenage girl )!?) that didn{t give a damn about me, my shirt, the 2500 colones )5.00) or anything else. We kind of went toe to toe trying to understand each other until another young woman came up and offered to take over. With her help, I bought a cute purple t shirt with the picture of my choice.

I came home that day very frustrated, but in the last 10 days, I{ve seen some forward progress. I{m starting to hear individual words when people out on the street speak, or I hear something on TV. It doesn{t sound like esdemasiadoparatucomprender. But it{s too much for you to learn.

I really really like this and I wish I could stay longer. Maybe I{ll hold Chris for ransom when I get him here.

When the Guide Says This is a Treecky Entrance, Watch Out

2006-07-17T15:22:00.000-07:00

July 15, 2006

After one weekend trip with all the kids, Lora wanted to pick a one day adventure. We decided that river rafting would give these energetic wildcats a good workout and a chance to scream. yell, be loud and crazy as much as they wanted. I thought this was a good plan, up to this point.

When we were presented with the choice of the easy or the hard river route, Lora didn{t hesitate. Much to my quaking chagrin, she picked the hard one. Class 3 and 4! rapids.

Since I have never been on a rafting trip, I hate being scared, cry on rollercoasters, and am a general wimp when it comes to surging 220 fear through my 110 wiring, I wasn{t sure if I was going to disgrace myself in front of 6 teenagers and various and assorted hunky guides.

These kids already think I{m ancient. But never one to back down for a challenge, I signed up and went along. After all, it{s what they{re paying me for. Of course, that didn{t stop me for moaning a bit about it. What{s the point of being scared if you can{t complain a little bit.

We got up at 6 00 am for the pleasure of it all, got a taxi and met the bus at a nearby hotel. When we loaded up with another group of teenagers from Buffalo NY. and a couple my age with a 13 year old son, our long haired, glibly bilingual guide told us everything we would need to know about the coming day. Where we wre going, how long it would take, what we would eat, where the bathrooms were, etc. etc. He talked for about 20 minutes. He was pleasantly, and as it turned out, deceptively amusing.

We drove for about 90 minutes over the mountains, through the cloud forest, and down to the Pasquale River. )once more, spelling corrections later). We unloaded ourselves in a big outdoor pavillion where we were served breakfast. It kind of felt like my last meal.

Then back on the bus, down a bumpy gravel road, a 15 minute hike down the bumpy road and I mean straight down, until we came to the river bank.

At the river bank, there was an outfitting truck with all our paddles, life jackets, and bright yellow helmets so we wouldn{t bash our brains out when we crashed into the rocks.

We all put on our gear, the big life jacket making me walk like the Michelin man, and got a lesson in how to basically save your own life, and the lives of your fellow raftees.

In our raft, Lora and Nicki, a young woman traveling through Central America by herself, were in the front, being the bravest and most experienced. Next came the dad and his 13 year old son, and the wife and me bringing up the rear in front of the guide.

We did a little practice paddling, and then we shoved off with instructions to PADDLE TOGETHER, FOLLOW THE LEADERS, LISTEN TO YOUR GUIDE NO MATTER WHAT YOU THINK OF HIS DIRECTIONS. Our guide really did yell all this at us. He had to so we could hear him under our cute little yellow helmets and over the roaring of the first set up rapids.

We plunged right into the first warm up rapids that were only! class 3. That went pretty well. After the first few sets, I felt like I might be able to make it through the day without crying or
ask ing for a helicopter. As I began to relax, I started looking around at where I was with enjoyment, instead of feeling like it was my last day on earth. I{m exaggerating for effect, of course. But only a little.

Here I was river rafting through the Costa Rican rain forest. The trees disappeared on either side of the river bank so high up in the sky you had to lean back to see the tops. Birds of every description flew all around, diving back and forth across the river. We saw gray and white kingfishers, at least 18 inches long,with their forked tail feathers trailing behind like a little contrail, their bright red bellies flashing in the sunlight.

Butterflies of every color floated on the breeze. The beautiful mariposas fluttering like confetti above the water.

And then , FORWARD! FORWARD! FORWARD! STAY TOGETHER! STAY TOGEHTER!
STOOOooooop!! And we had sucessfully negotiated another rapid. And this was just the warm up. The class 4 rapids were all ahead.

I picked the chicken seat in the back of the boat, but I was behind the guy. And this guy wasn{t going to follow the lead of any girls. He wasn{t a very good paddler, didn{t really listen to the guide, directions, and was always out of time with the leaders. Maybe this was why he feel out of the boat in the middle of one of the class 4{s.

To be fair, so did 2 other people in the boat behind us. So while our guide was pulling in those 2 wide eyed teenage girls )not our girls)the rest of us were paddling like crazy, Mr. Macho, looking around at what was going on went right over the side when a giant wave spun us around. We rescued him using our recently learned life saving technique. STick out your paddle or haul them in by the shoulder straps. He was a little shook, and his wife was a little shook and all they wanted to do was Monday morning quarterback his big dunking while in the meantime we were about to hit another big swirling, foaming, roaring patch of water.

SHUT UP AND PADDLE I wanted to yell, and would have, too, if I could have just gotten enough air to yell.

AFter a couple of hours of one rapid after another, by which time I was no longer afraid, cautious, exhilarted, stunned and amazed, but not afraid, we hit a smooth part of the river where we could get out and just float downstream. Not every one did so, but I jumped out of the boat, stuck my feet out in front of me, as intstructed, and just floated in the current under a canopy of neon green, past waterfalls, with the sounds and calls of the jungle birds all around.

Lora joined me, and in a little while, we saw two dear little faces floating towards us under those yellow helmets, grinning from ear to ear. It was Las Sobrinas, the deadly McKee duo of Stephi and Brenna.

When you.re sittting in your living room, imagining that you would go to the Costa Rican rain forest and float in the river through the jungle, it seems too fantastical
to be true. And it seems like it would take
a lot of just plain doing, mentally and physically, to get yourserlf there.

But when your{e actually there, it seems so right and easy, another wonderful place in this beautiful world.

The clouds I could see on the horizon, fullof sunlight and unfallen rain, were the clouds of the planet, not just of this country or that. The singing birds call out in every language.

God dwells above and below, where ever I am, at home or anywhere in the world I might be.

I returned from this fantastic adventure all in one piece, more alive than ever. And I never fell out of the boat, even when we nearly tipped over .

The boat got swirled up against a giant rock and all 7 of us had to cram up against the right side of the boat, roll forward in a 14 limbed human ball and then find our way out of this tangle back to our rowing postions. All without losing our paddles or putting out our team mates eyes with the thing.

When can we go again.?

Now I Have A Space Bar, But I Have No Time

2006-07-16T20:18:00.000-07:00

Sunday night

It{s just one fun thing after another when you{re running with the jovenes. I would love to write all about the river rafting trip yesterday, which I must confess was a real high moment in my life, but I have no time today. Today we spent all day at the Parque de Diversiones. That{s Amusement Park in Spanish. )Please forgive any, of which I know there have been several, of my spelling errors. I{ll fix them all later.)

It was a dirversion, all right. It was the last day of a 2 week vacation for the school kids, so the park was very busy, according to our hostess. But compared to my last soiree through Disneyland, it seemed almost deserted. It was really fun to just be out amongst the local Tican families enjoying the day, listening to the Spanish all around. The roller coaster screams sounded pretty much like any amusement park screaming, anywhere.

I kind of moaned about going out again today. I just wanted to stay home, rest, write, study and savor the high I{m still feeling from yesterday. But I{m glad I went, despite the intial heat, the afternoon rain, the hour late kids to the rendevous while our host and hostess waited with their very tired 11 year old. If I had stayed home, I wouldn{t have seen the pretty park, that hasn{t been commericialized like the ones in the US that seem slick and fake.

I would have missed the program of traditional dances, the women wearing huge, multi colored skirts that they would twirl and swing around and around. Or the men wearing 5 foot tall paper machie masks on their heads as they ran through the audience.

It was a great day. I{ll write about the river trip tomorrow. After I get back from lunch at my new Costa Rican friend{s home. I{m supposed to meet her whole family. And since she looks just like Aunt Mae, this could prove inteteresting.

ICanDoClass4ButHaveNoSpaceBar

2006-07-15T19:43:00.000-07:00

Droppedintotheinternetcafetodropalineaboutmyfirstwhitewater raftingtriptoday. Class4rapidsthrutheCostaRican Rainforest. But Myassignedcomputerhasnoworkingspacebar.

Gladmypaddleworkedbetter. Thisreadslikethewholedayfelt. Onebigruntogetherblur. Amazing. Andlotsofbirds. Tomorrowwithanotherkeyboard.

Hot Water, Yo Me Gusta

2006-07-14T14:18:00.000-07:00

July 13, 2006

I really want a hot bath tonight. It rained all day and every low place in the street is full of water. It was wet walking to school, walking to lunch, walking home, walking back up here to the internet cafe, and all I want is a nice hot, hot bath. Just one catch, there is virtually no hot water in Costa Rica, just what I have heard refered to as "The Suicide Shower".

You get hot water from an electric box that heats the water as long as you keep the water pressure really low. The more you turn up the water, the colder it gets. Once you get the pressure built up, you have about 3 mintures of fairly hot water. But this meter box is in the shower with you! Hence the name. This seems to be safe enough, because I haven't seen very many singed people walking around.

But this evening, I miss my bathtub with gallons and gallons of hot water.

At home, however, no one would be sitting with me around the dinner table, after a meal someone else had cooked for me, tyring to discuss and understand everything I said in a different language. Maria, John, another housemate from Nebraska, and I had the best conversation tonight about all the things that happen when people travel.

Maria told us about a couple she knew and all their misadventures on their miel luna, honeymoon, and it was all very funny. And remember, this conversation took place all in Spanish. A very simple Spanish, but nonetheless, a month ago it would have been utterly impossible for me to do this.

I guess I can live without hot water. Just as long as any sparks I see in the shower are from my own giddy happiness to be having this experience here.

Is There One In Every Gosh Darn Country?

2006-07-14T13:47:00.000-07:00

July 12, 2006

If you're traveling with 5 teenage girls, checking out the local mall is high on the list of touring destinations. So we went to the local mall.

How odd to leave the old part of Heredia, where the sidewalks are uneven and broken, the little mom and pop tiendas on every corner sell a handful of things, the sandwich shop has 4 things on the menu, and a short taxi ride later be at a bright, shiny, commercial mall.

To be clear, there are shops and restaurants in the area where we are staying that have a variety of things, an old school style department store downtown, but all of these places are in old, side by side buildings made of every possible building material, interspresed with empty lots, broken brick and abandoned piles of construction debris.

So to pull up to this structure that could be in any town in the U.S (Don''t say America here when you mean the United States. The only time I've seen my teacher insulted, and he';s a mellow young guy who does a great job of putting up with the antics of 3 teenagers in our class. One of whom shall remain nameless) was a little mind bending.

We went inside, the girls in a state of high excitement, and went first to the food court where we had that ubiquitous US export, fast food. The girls gorged on Burger King, Taco Bell, and KFC. I admit that I ate some Burger King french fries and they were good. But an hour later when someone said they had a stomache ache so I was glad of my restraint. I only had to teach myself that lesson about a dozen times, but eventually, it stuck.

We went into every store in the mall, the girls trying on clothes, laughing, picking things up, running out of the dressing rooms semi clad to get other stuff. It was the Americano White Tornado. Wé'd walk into a store as a group of 7, and the clerks would look at us in various states of amused wonder. Some of them, were not so amused and seemed either put out or nervous.

Even though the building itself looked like any mall, the merchandise was different. There were the ususal teenage clothes everywhere, and they were displayed very nicely, but there was a fraction of the amount that you would see in a US mall, and most of the clothes were more like ones you would find in a discount store. I don't think things are as easily obtained here, and maybe that was the reason for some of the clerks' uneasiness. I don't presume to understand the back story of everything I'm seeing here. I've got all I can do just to keep up with these crazy kids.

It was an interesting evening. I know consumer goods float all boats, but I would hate to see the Walmart style borg of consumerism overtake yet another place on the planet. But again, I know nothing of the feelings of the local people. I just want to say, we don't need all the stuff we have, and I think once you start biting at that poison apple, you're never completely satisfied with what you have.

Just a little warning from someone who gets a kick out of finding multiple uses for the little facial scrubby pads I brought with me. Did you know you can wash your face, feet and bathroom sink with them? But in that order, or it's not such a good idea.

And by the way, when we came home, chattering and gigglying about the evening, I was able to tell our hostess and her sister, in SPANISH that we went into every store in the mall, and they laughed. The laugh needed no traslation. It's a great life.

The Beach, Part 2 Or I Saw the Monkey

2006-07-14T13:33:00.000-07:00

After a great afternoon swimming on our own private beach, we hiked back thru the mud and the jungle to where we had left the cars. The last few yards before we reached the trail head were flat, and in the gathering dusk, I saw a man coming towards us, pushing a baby in a stroller, headed into the jungle. I have no idea how far he thought he could go before he would be packing the whole thing on his back.

We drove back to town, and at one point we stopped the car by the side of the road to watch the monkeys leaping in the tree tops Dozens of little monkeys climbing in the branches, swaying at the end of a limb until they would make the leap onto the next branch. Never, ever did I think I would see such a sight.

We had dinner, wet and sandy, at an outdoor restaurant, and then headed back to the hotel

As soon as we got back to our cabins, the word went out that we were getting cleaned up and going into the little beach town for shopping and some night life. Why did I ever think that after all day hiking swimming and eating until 8:00, anyone would be tired? I must be getting old.

Anyway, back we went at 10:00 to the tiny little beach town that was hopping with music on every corner. The wierd thing was that as you walked down the street, you could hear the music directly in front of you, but in the next block, all you could hear was the music in that block.. You'd think they'd all meld.

There was a bonfire on the beach and lots of people dancing in the warm night air under a full moon. Sigh. The life of a chaperone.

The Beach Part 1

2006-07-13T10:45:00.000-07:00

I have just recently learned that this blog is going out to a wide audience. So......today´s disclaimer. I know I´m semi illiterate in Spanish, but I´m really quite versed in English grammar and puncuation. You wouldn´t know it by looking at these very, very rough entries. I. a.m. p.o.u.n.d.i.n.g e.a.c.h l.e.t.t.e.r. in.to. th.e. c.om.pu.t.er. Sometimes there is a big lag between what I type and when it appears on the screen. Rather like the telelphone delay when they interview the astronauts in space. Please keep all this in mind. Oh yeah, did I say that all the keyboard puncuation is fo´r ´´ñññ the Spanish alphabet and none of the commas, etc. are really commas? I did find the question mark under the dash key. No telling where the dash is.

So. I have no time or patience at this point to edit. My arm is too tired. Maybe later.

July 8, 2006

Here is today´s entry, Subtitled:

Even If You Don´t Speak the Language, You Still Have to Buy Snacks for the Kids.

In preparation for our trip to the beach, Lora and I decided it would be wise to get some snacks for 7 teenagers to have on a 4 to 5 hour car ride and for the weekend in case we arrived somewhere where it was hard to obtain the constant infusion of calories that teenagers require.

This was going to be a little tricky, in that we had no car, and the market was blocks away in opposite directions from our homes. We decided to meet after school, and since I lived closer, I would bring my suitcase on wheels for transport of the food. We quickly realized my suitcase would nt be big enough.

We caught a cab to Lora´`s house and retrieved her rolling duffle. We were delayed because we had to ask her house Mom for a jack so the cabbie could fix the rattling wheel of his cab, and then we were dropped off at the market. We bought what we could recognize, and loaded it all up in our suitcases. )Mine still smells like cookies), and went home in the cab.

When I got to my house, I divided the loot into a bag for each of the rooms and carried it all, in 2 trips, the 2 blocks to the school and back in the pouring rain walking behind Stephi and Brenna. They were dressed all cute to go out so they had my umbrella. Fortunately, this Duñea had a rain jacket.

The next day, we brought our overnight bags to school, and as soon as class let out, our group of 10 and 3 others loaded up in a slightly oversize mini van and started out for Puerto Viejo, a 5 hour drive away. The roads were fine for the first several hours, and all we had to contend with was the Friday night 5 oclock traffic of smoggy trucks going 30 miles an hour for miles is front of us. The scenery was beautiful, though, waterfalls, and clouds on each side of the road, strechthing out in a green, misty blanket to each horizon.

It was soon dark, and the last hour found us bouncing in our seats, swaying side to side as the van dodged pot holes and craters in the road.

We finally arrived at our hotel, a series of very cute cabanas, each with a bath. It was like summer camp, bunk beds, screened openings with no glass for windows, our cabins, lush greenery and all around us a tree frog seranade. And what is camp without a lot of giggling, door squeaking, whispering kids. Lora and I shared a room, so that was good.

The next morning David and Zaida took us to a beach where they told us we would hike up to a beautiful view and some deserted beaches, but that we should just go barefooted as it was a very muddy climb. I have to admit, this didn´t sound like fun.

We parked the van and took off. We forded a small stream that was flowing down out of the jungle, the water cold and iron red. We walked across an open beach and took a trail that started straight up through vines, banana trees, tropical flowers, and lots and lots of mud. It was squishy. Since I was the one that didn´`t want to leave all our passports locked in the van in the parking lot, I was carrying the pack. It seemed only fair as extreme caution, what others might see as paranoia, comes at a price. I figured it´s always easier to carry the pack now than deal with missing passports later. If if it ever happens. Im kind of superstitious. Once more, I digress.

Our climb put us out onto an open mountain-hill top with a view of paradise. A rather cliqched word to describe the view. The beach below was empty, the sand white and so very clean. The shoreline, lush and green behind a scrim of sea mist, curved away to the horizon, walking distance to Panama. The blue sky bounced the light back into a thousand shining points over the surface of the water. It was breathtakingly beautiful.

We continued our hike through the jungle, emerging over and over to another spotless, unspoiled beach. The water was rough from a storm the night before, but nothing too rough for this group of happy, bold, young, not so young and very, very muddy adventurers. Que bonita.

My First Yoga

2006-07-12T14:59:00.000-07:00

July 6, 2006

I want to begin this entry with the usual disclaimer. I´m typing on a very worn Spànish keyboard. Please forgive.

While I was in Tulsa this Spring, I had some real doubts about taking on Costa Rica so soo after The Moving Project. It seemed just a little demasiado. )Has any one bought a Spanish dictionary yet?)

Then one Oklahoma morning, I opened my meditation book and that day´s page spoke of meditating in Costa Rica while watching the monkeys run across the tops of the tress in waves.

Well, ok. If you put it that way.

So I guess the subconcious bar for yoga in Costa Rica was set pretty high.

I spent the first week just trying to find a class. My two buddies at the sandwich shop on the corner by the school tried to help. They corrected my pronunciation, made some phone calls and then tried to give me directions. All of this was done in rapid fire Spanish on my second day here. By the way, it.s pronounced
JHO HA.

I didn´t even have a mat because althought I usually take one with me everywhere, I was trying to travel very light so I left it at home. Pablo wrote down the best word he could think of for yoga mat, concheta de exejersicio. So I wondered all over the market asking for this in my fractured accent.

My host mom found me a class 2 blocks from the house and even walked me down there, just like a little kid on the first day of school.

This was not the yoga I was used to. First of all, everything was in Spanish. Imagine! That wasn´t such a big deal since I knew the poses, but I wasn´t prepared for the extremely slow pace. The teacher, who was very nice, reminded me of my 7th grade gym teacher. The background music was American 80´s top ten in instumental form. Sun Salutation set to an muzak Bridge OVer Troubled Waters was kind of odd. And of course, we had the ever present traffic symphony drowning out everything else.

But the upside. I met a very nice woman who spoke English and she helped me . Weirdly enough, she looked and sounded just like Chris´Aunt Mae. She even offered to buy me a yoga mat and bring it to the next class.

At the end of the class, everyone clapped for the brave American yogini and made me feel very welcome, with kisses on the cheek and lots of touching and talking. And I have a new, bright green, Costa Rican yoga mat that come complete with several new friends.

Culture Shock= Yours, Mine and Ours

2006-07-11T17:04:00.000-07:00

4 de Julio, 2006
July 4, 2006

I now know there is more than one kind of culture shock. There is the kind you expect, like when you travel to a foreign country where you don´t speak the language. You rather expect to be if not shocked, at least vigorously surprised. But when you come face to face with aspects of your own culture that leave you in a state of open mouthed surprise, that is not so expected.

When we arrived at school this morning, the directress, who is Costa Rican, reminded us that it was the 4th of July and she was having a little party after class. Somehow this date had totally escaped most of us. It was a very kind gesture and we cooked some hot dogs on the electric skillet in the garden behind the school and poured some Central American potato chips made from yucca in a bowl. But the best part of the party was the six bags of ice for the Cokes. I´m surprised to find that I had an unrecognized love affair with ice. I was so happy to see the hielo, that I took one of the left over bags home rather than see it dribble away, melting in the sink. All in all, no one really seemed to feel any patriotic fevor, but I didn´t take a poll. American politics in Central America are kind of a touchy subject.

A few days ago, the directors, who are an American husband and a Costa Rican wife, took us all to a dance place up in the mountains. The band was a local salsa band. The Tican musicans were dressed like any college student you would see in the US´ñ jeans, ball caps, T shirts, but they really cooked in Spanish salsa. Eveyone was trying to find out if they had a CD, but we were told that they were just a little local group, and by the way, we each owed the band 3,000 colones. Since this was the equivalent of a 6.00 cover charge, it seemed reasonable, if somewhat surprising that the bill for it came at the end of the evening while the band was packing up their instruments. But I´m getting side tracked.

The point of this is that all our teenagers arrrived dressed up to go out. They all looked beautiful, young, energetic and charismatic, even the young ones. We arrived at the bar and in minutes of the band starting up, they were all on the dance floor. And boy could they dance.

They shimmied, they got down, they shook their booties. They got up on the stage and dared to do it even faster.

. A couple of the 18 year olds ordered flaming drinks at the bar and set their eyelashes on fire.

What´s a chaperone to do? I never felt so in need of my friends, so out of touch, so well, old. I wanted to shake my bootie, what there is of it. But it just wasn´t happening for me.

These kids are powerhouses of youth, of beauty, of sex appeal. Why did it all seem so worrisome?

So I tossed and turned all that night worrying about what kind of trouble might be coming our way. After all, when it was me up there on that stage, some years ago, trouble followed, just as night follows day.

I had no idea how quickly I would forget how teenagers scare you half to death by just being so young. Such a vigorous surprise.

This weeks Top Ten

2006-07-10T14:41:00.000-07:00

July 3, 2006

I have been here un semana hoy, or one week today, and this is my top ten list of what I have learned. It will be obivious that mastery of the Spanish keyboard is not one of them.

#1. Nothing is Ever As Hard As It Seems

The whole time I was anticipating this trip, all I could think about was how difficult and scary-meido it would be. One week later, I have to ask myself, again, why I worry about these things. No doubt about it, this is a very different place and culture. The sidewalks are old and broken. Dogs roam, and poop, freely. The front doors of the houses are right off the sidewalk. Everything is really old and run down. And the traffic is one step short of mechanical insanity. And of course, everything is in another language. But none of this has been that difficult. People have much in common everywhere and are willing to help a stranger. If you open your eyes and pay attention, you can figure out most of what to do. the view of the surrounding mountains, emerald green and crowned with clouds, far outweighs the litter in the gutter. But still.........

#2. Growth Makes For Sore Muscles

I consider myself a fairly well spoken person and pride myself on understanding not only what people say, but what they mean. So it,s been humbling to try to talk to people and have them look at me with a pitying gaze. I know I{m saying the right words, but they still have a hard time understanding me. It would be as if I had said to you, Hay knee ahhh coque uh far ingging. If, by chance, you had understood my words, you would have heard me say that I needed a clock for ringing. Otherwise known as an alarm clock. Muy estupido. The five year old in whose house I am living, sounds like a Pulitzer Prize winning genius when she speaks. I was surprised to hear her mother have to explain something to her. I thought the kid knew everything.

Negotiating the simplest things, adjusting to very foreign sites and sounds, is an exercise in strengthening your nerves and resolve. Throw in some teenage kids to look out for while doing this, and you have a challenge. And...........

# 3. Teenagers Require Engergy

Despite having raised, in toto or in part, 3 wonderful people, I have to laugh at how quickly I had forgotten how much energy it takes to spend time with teenagers. They want to think of themselves as adults, but they aren{t quite. They still need the occasional input, observation and direction, especially in a foreign country. And McKee teenagers, well! Force multiplier. Of course, none of this do they like. And try learning something new and challenging when you are in a classroom with 3 smart, wiggly, attractive, distracted, gum popping, fingertapping, chair tipping, argumentative, adorable, exasperating teenagers. It,s exhuasting. Especially when the traffic apocolypse is taking place outside the open window on the street below. It,s exhausting. Good thing that..................

#4. Sleep Cures Everything, Everywhere

After 10 hours of sleep on the first morning, I woke up ready and able to take on becoming a world citizen. When the kids get enough sleep, everything is bueno. When we don,t it,s not so bueno. And when the kids stay up half the night talking like Foghorn Leghorn outside our hosteses bedroom, there is stress involved. There is a reason one of the first words I have learned is the word for embarrasing. So don,t mess with my sleep. Therefore.........

#5. Smog Control Is Not Just A Theory, It{s a Good Idea. So Vehicle Brake
Inspection.

I, m all for minimal local, state, and federal regulation, but after the experience of all the deisel belching busses, taxis, cars and for all I know, my own lungs. I{m really ok with some law and regulation. Especially outside my bedroom window. And I don{t think there is a war cry anywhere that could be anymore hair raising than the sound of a 2 ton bus screeching to a stop on unlined brake drums. And will someone thank the inventor of the pooper scooper for me. Some rules are good and some things, like clean air, are worth spending some money. Having said that..........

#6. We Don,t Need All of The Stuff We Have

The house where I,m staying is very simple. The kitchen is old, with a worn linoleum floor and open shelving made of plywood for the few dishes. The stove is a tiny, 20 year old, avocado green electric.
My room is a combination of wallpaper, pegboard partitions, various colors of paint. The shower curtain is clear plastic with the Costa Rican Barney on it. Only it{s puppies. It,s all a long way from grantie counters, stainless steel appliances, and 600 thread count.

But Maria cooks our delicious meals with loving, unhurried hands, in front of the open window , the lace valance blowing with the breeze. The wood floors gleam, and the children{s art work hangs on every wall. The rain sounds wonderful on the tin roof, and lulls the passing time into a slower, calmer pace. Because.........

#7. Time Is Relative

At home, I was feeling as if time was speeding by so fast. Everyday seemed so short. One thousand things may happen in a day, and in an environment where you are totally comfortable and familiar, you might not notice 10 per cent of what you do. It doesn{ñt take much thought to turn on the shower. You read a sign that says go left and you just go left . Your mind barely registers this action But when everthing is foreign and unknown, you have to stop, read, think, Va Izquierda, before you can go left, your{e very aware of what you have done. This makes for a longer, sometimes trying, sometimes frustrating, long, exhilarating day. And this makes you remember how much...............

8. Kindnesss Matters

The first night I arrived, jet lagged, culture shocked, I didn{t understand 3 words for every 20 my host mom spoke to me, but her patience , kindnesss and concern, showed in her gestures, and on her face. She put me instantly at ease. I didn{t know a single thing of her life story. Wathching the teenagers be kind to everyone in the group, despite very different backgrounds and personal views, is evidence of the power of kindness. The people willling to help this semi helpless American, the 2 brothers who run the tiny cafe across from the school whe loaned me a book )that took some doing to figure out what was going on, the dictionary definitely came out on tthat one) didn{t need to take any time to talk with me, but the gratitude I feel to each of these people is limitless.

Language isn{t the root of kindness. No matter how many compliments, thank yous, flowery speeches you might say, nothing replaces the genuine gesture of lovingkindness. The yogis sure got this one right.

So that ,s it for now. I know Itñs only 8 things, but hey, it{s enough for this week.

Oh yeah. #9 Losing your journal is muy, muy mal

I´m Not Really Stupid

2006-07-01T13:09:00.000-07:00

Thanks to a really helpful little white pill, I slept well the first night in Costa Rica, despite the honking horns and wailing sirens, and the shaking foundation and vibrating tin roof of my host family´s home. I think I´ve landed on a street that is the equvalent of I 40. Chris and I have been regretting buying a place in California that has too much traffic noise for our tastes, but after this, it will seem like a soundless void.

Last night, I managed to understand that breakfast )desayuno) was at 8 00 am, and I^*m up and dressed and ready to help by 7 30. Of course there was no sign of las sobrinas when breakfast was on the table, and I had to go knock on their door. Twice. Nothing like being thrust back into moming with no warning. But since our sweet, sweet hostess was waitig with such an expectant look about how we were going to like her cooking, I just couldn´´t help but respond in mom fashion. Can´t stand to hurt anyone´s feelings, especially when they can say anything about how rude I am right in front of me and all I could do was say Bueno and smile about it.

Anyway, we had a good meal, if somewhat awkward, and once again, good manners smoothed the path. Amazing how quickly the cook will warm up to you if you clear your own table and rinse your dishes.

School starts at 12 00 on Tues. and Thurs. so I had a few hours to figure out what to do with myself. All of the teenagers on this trip are athletes, so they had already found a gym and wanted to enroll. I walked with Stepi and Brenna the few blocks to el gimansio , where we met Lora and her charges. Everyone went in and crowded around the registration window and proceeded to buy monthly passes. Of course, no one understood how much this cost, what you got for the money or how to pay in colones. Seven teenagers talking at once is hard to understand even when you´re not trying to translate dollars into colones.

I got a couple of minutes to say hi to Lora for the first time, and I decided to just wait until later to try to decide if I wanted to join the gym. Plus, I still hadn´t had a chance to change any money.

So I slipped away and left everyone there, happily stair stepping and found my way back to my house. I spent another hour unpacking and futzing with my enviornment, setting things up, and then set out to walk the 3 blocks to the school, alone.

Being such a good little muchacha, I was there 20 minutes early and spent another awkward moment with the receptionist, who was extremely nice, but she was lacking the most essential element of personality at that moment. English. I got the feeling that she´s seen dozens of bewildered first worlders trying to make sense of an environment where they aren´t quite so confident for a change.

I was paying for missing that plane in LA. Everyone else had a 2 day jump on me and that´s a lot.

Everyone else finally arrived, and after a short social hour in the patio garden in the back of the school, went to class, leaving me and a young woman from Holland waiting to be tested for fluency. This young woman´s name was Maria, just to make things more culturally crossed.

They placed me in a class with Brenna, Kara and Sam. Of course it was in the class room at the front of the school, where it was so noisy from the traffic noise I could barely hear. Someone is trying to tell me something´, what I don´t know. I probably just can´t hear it.

I haven´t been to school in years, and it takes some time to readjust the pay attention button in your brain. Especially when you´re trying to filter out un mil worth of decibels assualting your synapses.

But I got the job done for 4 hours.

This day was one of the longest I´ve lived in a while. At home, )califronia) I´ve worried how fast time was passing. Little did I know that I could change that just by coming 2000 miles closer to the equator.

Today I helped with breakfast in a foreign language, tired to figure out how to get hot water out of the shower, took an evaluation test, spent 4 hours in class, found a bank and changed money, walked home alone, found an email place, set the dinner table, did my homework, read a book for an hour and unpacked my suitcase. And sounded like an idiot the whole time. Tengo un piquito echar de menos.

Tomorrow

Sleep Cures Everything, Everywhere

Costa Rica, Oh So Tico

2006-07-01T12:51:00.000-07:00

Hola Mis Hijos, Mis Amigos and Amigas

I've completed almost one week of classes and immersion therapy in Costa Rica and it's been fun, challenging, scary and overwhelming. Guess what? Everything here is in Spanish!! Why was there even one little shred of deep down surprise about this fact? YOu mean there isn't a tiny bit of English everywhere you go? These guys aren't kidding around about the fact that their langauage is all Spanish all the time? I didn't realize I had this unconcious expectation until it surfaced. Some ofthe first few mornings I half expected to walk to school and see that they had turned all the signs around to the English side. Ha.

I got here on Monday night late, and I anticipated every possible scenario. No one would be at the airport, there would be a driver, Lora would be there , someone would be there with a sign, Brian's buddy, who runs the school and who I haven't seen in 20 years and wouldn't recognize would meet me. I even wondered what I would do if I had to take a taxi the 7 miles to Heredia, not having any idea where anything was. Did I mention there are no addresses in Costa Rica. Directions are given in 100"s of meteres from local landmarks. I thought I might have to sit on the school doorstep or sit in the aeorpurto all night.

I tried to think it all thru, and the only thing I could come up with was that if there was a guy holding a sign with my name on it, he would have to be legit. Unless I had a name like Jane Doe or incredibly bad karma and the dangerous stranger just randomly picked the name Karen McKee.

As usual, all my over-thinking was wasted energy, because when I got off the plane, in a perfectly normal looking airport, complete with Burger King and Duty Free Luxury Goods, there was a fellow in the throng with a sign that said "Karen Mckeiye"" How many of us could there be? He was also talking to Lora on his cell phone, which he handed to me. She assured me that Guiccho would take me to my host' family'"s home where Brenna and Stephi were waiting up. I did have the sense to ask Lora about how long it would take to get there, in case I needed to get suspcious or anything after 15.35 minutes.

Did I mention Guichho speaks 98% Spanish?

He mangaged to convey, and I managed to understand, that he wasn't taking me, it was his brother with the car. He had to wait for another student. So he led me down the sidewalk, carrying my suitcase, to his brother's van and loaded my luggage. My chaperones were 2 sleeply little boys about 6 and 8.

We drove to the host family house where my hostess was waiting up in her pjs and slippers, and she welcomed me as kindly as you might wish. She made me a cup of tea and made universal mother clucking noises about my journey, the hour, etc. Did I mention she spoke/speaks only Spanish?

She helped me take my suitcase to my room, and I was relieved to find I had my own room downstaris with a private bath, and even more relieved to see how clean everything was. I went upstairs, said a quick hello to las sobrinas who were sharing a room.

After talking with Stephi and Brenna for a few breathless minutes, I started back downstairs and passed the husband of the house sitting in front of his computer in a little office fashioned out of straw mats partioning off a little alcove. The only light on was his desk light, and he looked like a million other guys around the world messing around with email, etc. at the end of the day.

Even tho' i knew it wasn't excactly protocol, the only way to let anyone know where on the globe I happened to be, was to ask him if I could send me esposo a quick email to say I had arrived safely. He made reluctant getting up motions and I found my glasses, sat down and tried to send the message muy rapido. Guess what lanugage all the keyboard, instructions, pop ups, et al. speak? Even the @ sign is totally unfindable.

So of course, I have to tap very lightly on Stephi's door in order not to awaken the sleeping resident children and ask her how to find this essential communication tool.

Message sent, I tiptoed back downstairs, said Gracias, gracias, estoy mucho cansada (I memorized this on the plane) and backed slowly away, smiling as benignly as possible and went to my room and collapsed.

Maria had repeated the word "rudioso"" several times in reference to mi cuarto, and boy was she right, it's noisy.

All the houses are right on the city sidewalk behind locked
,decorative grates. My room is on the front of the house, buffered only by a small, walled in courtyard, woefully unplanted, and the unmuffled,cars, busses, motorcycles, ambulances, trucks and pedestrians whiz by at all hours of the day and night, so fast and so loud that the floor of the house shakes. I was too tired to care.

So here I am, at the end of the first week in my favorite internet store, trying to type on a balky, slightly worn out public computer keyboard that speaks mostly Spanish. Especially punctuation. So please don't edit for content or grammatico correcto.

Tomorrow,
First day in a Foreign Country where They Don't Speak English
or
Whatever I say Makes Me Sound LIke An Idiot