What I´ve Learned In Costa Rica

Mestizo - (adj.) of mixed race.

Fede, my soon to be housemate from Argentina, describes it as a blending of cultures.

Enter our cat: the blonde-haired blue-eyed Tico.

He's been testing my limits for sure. He's got as much energy as Cain ever had in a little body not much bigger than my foot. He's wilder than any pet I've ever known. Everything is play. I'm constantly trying to save the lives of all the pretty moths and beetles that tragically happen into his range (and rarely last more than one round.), saving Karen's shoes. Reminding that there's an oversized tupperware container in the bathroom he should go in instead of my shower. Juanca suggested that all Tico cats pee outside. There's no mama cat to show 'em how it's done. So I started taking the little guy into the bathroom with me whenever I had to go. I'd plop him in his box, do my thing, say 'good boy' when he'd do anything a cat should do in a litter box, even if it was just throw litter around. Finally he got it. Sometimes.

I went back to leaving the front door open a few days ago. I need the breeze and he's not a prisoner. He knows where the door is, where the food is, by now knows where the love is if he wants it. (And honestly, sometimes he gets on my nerves.)

Today, I picked up shit for what felt like it had to be the final time or else. There was no electricity and no water to wash my hands with. Needless to say, the start of a frustrating day. I decided to go to Quepos instead of the beach, which seemed the most logical solution to lack of light and water. (duh.) My gut said if the growing cat had more room to move around, like in a life-sized litter box, he might be more prone to stretch out and do his thing there than in my shower stall.

I'd also spent my morning writing (gotta love battery power) and was hoping for electricity to use the internet.

As I was leaving, Mestizo ran into the little space alongside the house and the neighbors´ wall, where those crazy, bright red, tropical flowers that look like they're sticking their tongues out at you grow wild. I called him over and over again. Said to come in Spanish and English and, after awhile, an admitted assortment of curses. He sort of looked like he thought about it a few times, even ventured toward me once or twice, but openly decided he preferred to stay where he was. It took a little while, worrying about losing him, but I figured I'd probably rather be hanging out with the flowers on a beautiful day than trapped inside a tile house too, if I was him. I told him one more chance. Mentioned he might get wet if it started to rain. He didn't come. Fair enough. I went on with my day.

There was internet in Quepos, but I´d forgotten half the technology I needed to post the blog. The camera was in the lockbox back at home. It was safe and sound, but I had to do without it anyway. I went to the vet's office and bought Mestizo a bright green litter box. I don't know if cats can see color or not, but you can't miss this thing!

As I climbed the final step to the landing he stepped out of this little lair, shook off an obvious nap hangover and looked at me like, hey what's up. I opened up the door and showed him what I brought for him. He hopped into all his newfound space like it was the coolest thing ever. (I swear he even shook a deadfinger at me.)

We haven't had a single problem since.

The morals of this story:

Stop trying to control everything.
Love, no matter what.
Give everyone their proper space. The right ones aren't going anywhere.
Don't hoard things so much that you keep them from being used to their fullest purpose.
Fuck technology. Choose life, go to the beach.

Did I mention love? The little guy's snuggled up beside me like perfection.

Holiday Presence

Introducing Mestizo

I'm going to miss this place, is what I think as I sit at the kitchen counter bar in front of the open front door deciding what to write about in my latest blog over my morning coffee, and spy Victor walking by in the road below just in time to whistle: woo wooooo!

Buenos dias! his smile is ever-ready. Mestizo's out playing on the front balcony.

Este is su gato?
Siii!!!
Que bonito gatito, he says, snapping the deadfinger (Tico for waaay coool!!!).
Y vas a la playa?
Si, mas tarde. (It's only 7am!)
Nos vemos entonces!
Hasta luego, I say as he turns to go.

This phase has just about reached it's 3 month max. I can't believe it's December already. November went by in a blur of preparation. Yoga flyering, apartment hunting, travel planning. All missions accomplished. And now December, the month for celebrating the fruits reaped from last year's seeds.

Yesterday, December 1st, I celebrated this giant hunk of fruit on my plate called life in Costa Rica by hiking down to Playitas and finding a private little nook in a cove of rocks. I took off my bikini top, sprawled out like a starfish in the sand and got drunk on sunshine. I celebrated my freedom with a swim in the blue sea. I celebrated my strength with a sweaty hike back up the mountain a few hours later. I celebrated my success by bending and extending on my yoga mat for an hour before class. I twisted and wrung myself, out with the old and in with the new, absorbing deeply.

The best definition I've ever heard for yoga is that it is a state in which nothing is missing. If I may, I'd like to revise. For me, yoga is the state in which nothing is missed.

Whether you have ever made it to a yoga mat or not, under my instruction or another's is not important either, my wish for you is that you conjur that state inside yourself and celebrate your way through the end of this year with joy.

Gratitude

Good friends, a pool, a mountain, and a mouthful of sangria! Happy Thanksgiving!

Despues de pavo numero uno!

Even for all the distance I've come, all the acceptance of differences I've needed to muster this past year, there are some things that just don't change. Traditions, or at least the inner resonance of them, have a way of sticking with you like mashed potatoes to your ribs. As I approach my second Thanksgiving away from home, I find myself counting my blessings. Merely listing them off wouldn't nearly do them all justice.

Today, I was talking with a Tico friend who told me he gave his children their Christmas presents already. His kids are 3 and 1 1/2 (Each got a toy truck).
"No Santa Claus?", I asked, certain he 'exists' here for all the plastic replications already adorning the houses in Quepos.
"No,"he replied, "I don't think we should lie to our kids."
"That's very cool of you," I told him, "but what do you do on Christmas then, if you've already given them their Christmas gifts?"
"Celebrate," he said so matter of factly I couldn't help but feel the stupid American.

How do you celebrate Christmas? he asked me. Como es Christ-mas (pronounced with a long i) por la profesora de yoga?

"Well... For one thing, it's not 'Christ' that I celebrate," I told him, "and it's not Buddha or Santa Claus either. I celebrate a higher power for sure, but don't subscribe to any religion or worship any name. To me, it's celebrating the beginning of the end of another year of life. The time for reflecting on all that's happened, what is important, what I've learned, what needs to shift in the coming year ahead."

"But do you give presents?" he asked.
"My family is big into gift giving. My mom always goes overboard with so many presents that they don't fit under the tree, but instead go under and all around it." (His eyes got big and wide.) "Usually, it embarrasses me, because the gifts I have for them aren't the kind you can buy. During my end of the year reflecting, I consider the impression left by each person in my life that year. I find some way to represent that feeling and I try to give them that. Sometimes it's a framed picture I've taken, or a tiny tree decorated by hand and ready to be planted in the garden or yard, a handmade birdhouse with a little bird perched by the front door ready to take off." (He laughed, nodding his head). "Sometimes people get my meaning, sometimes they don't. Maybe they do at some point later, who knows. I think, at least, those who know me get that I'm giving them my time and energy, love and creative inspiration, even if they don't totally get my point. That's enough. Still, it's not the easiest thing to give a mere intention in exchange for big, shiny presents that cost someone hundreds of dollars."

This year is going to be different for me for sure. My first Christmas away from home. Everyone I know is going somewhere. I have no idea how it's going to be and am trying to be open to whatever it may be, but it seems I'm going to have LOTS of time and space for end of the year reflecting. Probably best because I have so much to digest this year. It's funny, in all the space available to create my own traditions, in the gap I've found between my own culture and this new one I'm immersed in, I find myself wanting to slip into old familiars that I moved away to distance myself from! Thinking, I should go to the beach and buy Linda some earrings, and my mom a pareo, my dad a new pipe, and what in the world to get Eric, and I'd better do it really fast so there's enough time to send them home so that they'll get them in time for the holiday...all this so they'll know I'm missing them and thinking of them and celebrating them...as if buying them presents to mark a date on the calendar would help them to know any better. All the way down here in Costa Rica, still feeling the American way.

Thanksgiving, the real commencement of the winding down of 2008, where we consider our lists of things we're grateful for and spend the next 6 weeks celebrating them, enjoying them, and setting good intentions for how we might better nurture them in the new year ahead. My Thanksgiving was 3 days long this year. On Thursday, a pool party and turkey dinner at Blue Banyan Farm with Karen, Cata, Katie and Reilly, and an assortment of other new friends. A Friday evening dinner party with Juanca and his ever-eclectic group of amigos. Saturday, a TEFL celebration at Jenny's place (Boy, this turkey sure does taste like chicken!) with the whole crew. After 3 days of turkey, I have to say it's been a very full year (corn-y pun intended, har har).

For every thing I've had to let go of, there has come twofold for me to embrace in its place and I am full to the brim with gratitude.

"Take just one step in the direction of the Divine, and it takes 10 steps in toward you."
~Manorama

P.S. One more thing to be grateful for: Brand new news that I'm going home for Christmas!

Consumption

There's some dinner in the fridge for you, Karen called from her bedroom when I walked in after class tonight. "Really? What?" I asked.
"Rrrrooooster soup!" she said from her bedroom as I walked past onto the porch.
Juanca had told us in the morning that we'd finally get some sleep tonight. He'd paid the neighborhood kids to catch the bird. He said he felt bad, but Dahlia was cooking it up at least. I said, "Oh, no, pobrecito!", feeling sort of bad for the poor guy. Karen said, "Yeehaw!" and smiled the first real smile I'd seen from her all day. He brought us each a feather as proof or souvenir or something, both of which Karen immediately put in her hair. He told us it was all our fault. Karen shamelessly accepted full responsibility.

Karen sat with me while I ate my soup, making jokes the whole time. Thankfully she wasn't wearing the feathers. It was bad enough there was a very obvious and entire leg hanging out in my bowl. I ate it all, out of respect for both the bird and Dahlia. I don't care what anybody says, rooster does not taste like chicken, but the soup was pretty good.

Two big city gals living the simple life in Costa Rica. We've certainly had our share of culture clashes (and Kodak moments to prove it! Karen donned her rooster headgear, grabbed her bamboo walking stick, the biggest knife we own, and her fiercest hunting face for a photo op). Here was but another.

I'm about to have a new roommate come January. Kar and I have been on the apartment hunt for weeks now, and are weighing out our next step possibilities. This place is so transient that nothing lasts longer than 3 months here. We knew moving in here that this apartment was temporary. Our experience is shifting, yet again. My upcoming adaptation is named Federico. He's from Argentina. We met each other on the beach a only few weeks ago. He was looking for his lost flippers. I was looking for seashells. Both of us in search of abandoned vehicles, we found each other and clicked in that cosmic sort of way that makes people do fun and carefree things.

And so, new year, new life. As always, a new adventure.

I’m extremely excited and looking forward for sure, but as I sit here digesting the last male who disturbed my sleep, I can't help but wonder how having a live-in boyfriend will be.

Of course I'm joking. (burrrrp!)

Halloween in the jungle

Wake Up Call

One of our neighbors got a new rooster while I was away. His job is to wake eeeeeverybody up at 5am sharp. He takes his job very seriously. He was prompt as a drill sergeant for my first week back. After 3 days or so, my bitching was equally consistent. Normally a pacifist, but tired of losing sleep, I was seriously considering ways to shut this bird up. Once Karen came home from the states last week I had someone to commiserate with. "As long as we eat it I think it's ok," was her response to my morning rants about what I was going to do to that rooster if I saw it in the street. I was mostly kidding.

A few days ago, the rooster got confused. For three days or so, he started screaming his wake up call just after 3:00 in the morning. Juanca joined in the ranting, telling Karen he intended to find out who owns him. While we wondered, we spent our nights tossing and turning about in our beds, pacing around, getting drinks of water, going pee, all stirring about annoyed from 3something in the morning until whenever the bird would finally stop. The broken sleep surely didn't help us navigate all the craziness that happened this past week with any semblance of grace. Two dead bodies on the beach, broken relationships, withdrawn verbal contracts, canceled classes, job resignations, sadness and uncertainty, confusing new friendships, unexpected roommates, and lots of tears, these are the things that had risen up in our world. All in one week.

Karen was talking out a hard day as we sat in the kitchen eating pasta together Tuesday night after yoga class. The rooster let out one of his best belts ever. Ar Ar Ar ARRR!!!! She stopped talking, her sad face made into a half smile (still sad eyes), I stopped chewing and we both started laughing. "There is seriously something wrong with him!" she said, "It's 11o'clock at night!" "Dinner!" I joked, and thought that at least we were getting it out of the way. Nope. He still woke us up in the middle of the night. And again at 5am. Juanca went out knocking on doors during the 3am wake up. Apparently no one is owning up to the rooster. But everyone is feeling murderous. The whole neighborhood is in on a plot to cook this bird for dinner. Karen says, "We're havin' rooster for Thanksgiving!"

It's 5:50am. I've been awake for a little longer than it took me to write this. The rooster was screaming, so I walked out onto the balcony (my bedroom door that lets into the hallway has a broken lock) to make the rounds for a drink of water and a pee. Even without my contact lenses in I could see the giant full moon lighting up the sky a navy blue twinkling with stars. I drank, peed, and put my contacts in. The moon straight ahead was so full it seemed to be vibrating in the clear sky. To my left, a pink sun was slowly coming up beneath a horizon of tin roofs and tropical trees. The stars were sparse for the full moonlight and rising morning, but were perfect little points of light. Of course the rooster was crowing, but for the first time I was grateful to him. I leaned my forearms on the railing and just looked all around and up, and down. I listened to all the other sounds of wakefulness. A high, radiant, and very round moon. That damn rooster. Some other roosters probably confused by the rogue. A dog howling (just one). A person moaning eerily down in the little valley. Some cats fighting in very high pitched voices. Assorted insects. Glasses and tin cups clanking beneath some of those tin roofs. All sounding as singled out at the sprinkled stars for the heavy before-dawn silence.

I watched the moon go down behind the trees. Everything quieted down to a dull hum.

The sun rose enough to reveal the ocean and the mountains. The birds started waking up. Singing. Twittering. Flying by in determined flocks, or in happy-looking pairs, or yellow-breasted individuality. All except that rooster. He went to sleep or is off doing whatever roosters do when they finally shut up. Cars have started sighing by on the main road off in the distance.

I've seen swells of ocean rise up in response to that bright force of the full moon. Last night Melanie told me a story about being 11 years old in Limon and hearing a crack of thunder, then seeing a wave of street, just before being shaken by an earthquake, 7.8 on the richter scale. This morning, I witnessed a little wave of life. There are forces greater than us, unfathomable in power and strength. It doesn't matter what we need to call them or what images we paint to explain them to ourselves. Unless it's in celebration of them that's just a waste of energy.

If everyone stopped trying to control everything what would happen?

That dead man on the beach with the brown hair and the handsome face, he had the same hollow eyes that Cain had when I found him on that same beach. Death, the absence of life, leaves a body looking so helpless. Like when it comes, the force is so strong, the choice is obvious. Light reabsorbs with a brighter light, like those stars in that moon and sunlit sky. The rest is unnecessary. Leave it on the beach. I wondered, looking down at him, if he struggled in his last moments, or if he simply realized the strength of the force that had hold of him and surrendered. Was he enjoying himself up until it came? I felt sad for the people who were missing him. Who would feel that need to come collect the shell he'd left behind.

Relationships and contracts, classes and jobs, man-made structure, life itself, these things are all subject to change. Being sad when they do makes them boomerang. Adapt, learn, and keep paying attention.

It's all a part of the trip.

Three Days´ Grace

Last night, over a glass of red wine, I did my best to explain the word 'become' to Steven. The Spanish translation hacerse just doesn't do the word justice. A caterpillar will become a butterfly, I told him. A child becomes an adult. "The tourists will be come," he offered. No. Close, but no. To become is to develop into something, I tried again. To grow? he asked. Closer, I said, but still not quite. Deeper. It's like evolving, I explained. If you practice something, you'll become better. Tadpoles become frogs. He nodded his head slowly to show he understood, but I wasn't completely sure he caught my drift.

After two long days of traveling, I'm back in Costa Rica. I met a German girl, an artist, named Sarah Kai when I was traveling in Brazil a few years back. She told me during my days of acclimation that she believes it takes the soul three full days to catch up with the body after traveling long distances. I never forgot that ring of truth, and so I'm midway through day three and still waiting patiently. Ah, but the warm balmy air, the curl back in my hair, the sun on my skin, the ocean, the beach, the purr of espanol...it does feel good to be home. Still, my ten days of reconnecting, tracing back my roots, have left me with so much to process. It's like trying to digest Thanksgiving Dinner.

I remember taking off from Costa Rica, looking down at the diminishing mountains, valley, and ocean, thinking how much I would miss that raw beauty. As we approached the east coast of North America from above, I saw the Monopoly board of settlement below and thought, too much everything. I felt my chest clench up as I gathered my carry-on baggage.

My first taste of the US after a long year away was an unexpected excursion (I will not say lost, Dad) through most of the state of New Jersey, most definitely not the most picturesque state. But for the...detour...I was blessed with 4 hours (sorry, Dad, I had to) of low-down on what's new with my Dad (interspersed with some interesting curses...in English) while finding our way back to Pennsylvania alongside the Delaware Water Gap. The gold, the burning orange, the glorious reds of autumn whizzed by on either side of us from mountains, yes, mountains that climbed up to the same blue sky I'd flown in on. South America, North America, Earth is Earth, unceasingly beautiful in all its diversities. Transitioning from one type of beauty to another is less difficult than I'd expected. Ah, but temperature is something entirely different. It was so freakin' cold!!!

Ten days of activity, undivided attention, visiting, reminiscing, catching up on long-overdue errands...after my three days grace period, with only one small meltdown on the morning of day 3 (Dad, the brand new Grandpa tried everything but checking to see if I'd pooped my pants to do his best to help. Want something to eat, pal? Something to drink? Are you warm enough? Good ol' Dad.) it flew by in a blur. Too fast. My Mom, eager to help however she could as well, had planned a birthday party, complete with all my favorite everything I've missed from friends to family to soft pretzels and sushi, in hopes of lessening the burden of running around to fit everyone and everything in. It was so much fun, almost an overload of fun, but even for the masses contained in one place I didn't get to spend nearly enough time individually. It was a blessing, though, to find myself in the same space with everything I was absent from for so long. Love doesn't require conversation. Good thing, too, because by night's end, conversation had dwindled to drunk-talk and awful singing by the hangers on. All piled in the outdoor jacuzzi (did I mention it was freezing?). All of us wearing my Dad's boxer shorts (good ol' Dad).

Too much squeezed into one week should not turn into too much squeezed into one blog. So, in the interest of keeping it readable in one sitting, I will distill it down to some favorite moments (in chronological order):

Everything my Mom. Seriously guys. Time and space has yielded whole new appreciation.

Hugs from Julie (I thought I would pop!) and Linda (gentle and warm, my sister)...I'm all about balance : )

ASHLYN! Especially those snazzy get-ups, compliments of Pop. Gotta be major cute to pull them off!

The drunken sing-a-long in the hot tub is worthy of two mentions for sure (Every little thing is gonna be alright...).

A surprisingly serendipitous virtual birthday reconnect with long lost friend Katita.

3am pizza in Angeliki's bed. (Nicole! What are you doing? Pizza. Go to sleep.)

Dance-offs to everything from Sinead O'Connor (seriously hysterical) to the Golden Oldies with Brett, Zack, and the Captain.

Chili night at Julie and Shafat's place. Good conversation, red wine and L. Brown's laughter all in one place!
Best of all: the compliments to the chef, ahem (I am not bragging...that NEVER happens!).

Laughing 'til my sides hurt while watching the Phillies work toward winning the World Series while tossing random pop flies to Zack across the living room (Philllaaaaays! Yeah! WOOOOO!).

Visiting with Dan and Paulie (zzzz..whoa! I dunno what happened there)...had some Hallmark moments there, didn't we guys?

My favorite bartender Zack (different than dance partner Zack) at the Good Dog Bar ever-ready with a fresh Yard's Pale Ale. That one was worthy of two visits.

My favorite Greek's mushrooms and pasta! (hmm...there's a lot of food referenced here, and it ain't rice and beans!)

Meagen. After a year in withdrawal...every second with Meg! (Tea and Talk didn't happen, but we sure did drink a lot o' beer!)

Ms. Pacman at McGlinchy's!!!

Never-ending supply of fun hats.

The 2:30am ketchup mishap while eating my first in forever cheesesteak at Pat's with new pal Andy.

Actually making it to Jill's (amazing) Saturday morning 9am yoga class at Wake Up.

Vegan BLTs at Mugshots.

Exhibiting my neurosis while Juleen cut and colored my hair (a task she swore against yeeeears ago. By the way, Jules, I LOVE IT!)

Playing Go Fish en espanol with Brett (Pesca!).

Eating Angeliki's hand-me-down MacDonald's breakfast in lieu of the cherry coughdrop I was offered (but they're nutritious AND delicious. Whatever dude).

Lazy Sundays with the family. Eat, nap, eat, TV, nap, eat, sleep.

Watching my big little brother curl up, in his pj's, on the living room floor with his teeny tiny little girl.

Knowing my niece enough to miss her.

Singing an Ain't That America duet while cruising up I95 in Brett's big ol' hunk o' Buick (Ain't THAT America?)

Dad giving me the Phillies cap right off his head at the airport so I could represent : )

I wouldn't allow myself to think too much on my flight back to Costa Rica. Three days, I always say. No guilt, no worry, no stress at all. Three days, at least, and everything will settle in. Still, the thoughts that did creep in went something like: what in the world am I doing anyway? why do I have to go so far to do it? am I insane? what exactly am I trying to accomplish? I miss this or I'm going to miss that....

A month or so ago I came across a doodle I'd made at the bottom of a page of my notebook. I remember drawing the beginnings of it while sitting, bored-stiff, in an SAP training for my last 'real' job. The left margin of the page was shaded in completely black. One square inch of plain, black nothing. Just inside the left margin, Cain and I are drawn as stick figures in thick, deep-pressed lines and ovals. I have a tight ponytail. Cain is on a leash pulled taut. We're walking and smiling. I'm holding a balloon. The sun is shining down on us as we walk happily to my waiting convertible, top down. A little further on is a fire hydrant waiting for Cain's attention. Could I have been trying to draw my way out of that boardroom, out of that dingy box, to something more free?

Later, at some point while living down here, though I can't remember exactly when, I'd added another scene to that drawing, connected to the first by a wave of ocean, drawn in soft, wispy lines. On the shore is a stick figure of a girl in that same easy hand, lying face to the sky, arms behind her head, on a blanket near a bonfire. Her hair is long and wavy, free. She has a big smile. Behind her is a happy, playful dog, leashless, shredding a coconut underneath a palm tree. The moon above them is big and full. The sky is full of stars and gauzy clouds. And even though it's a nighttime sky, it isn't shaded black.

When I found that sketch, I cut it out and stuck it to the side of a cabinet in our apartment. I colored the bonfire bright orange and red and yellow with some pastels, but left the rest as it was.

On the morning of my third day back in Costa Rica, Steven came over and was hanging around. "What's that?" he asked, pointing to the drawing. I smiled reflectively and took it down to show him. I explained each frame, from the black box I'd drawn in the conference room in the states to the beach scene intended to be Playitas, and remarked as an afterthought that I'd only just noticed how each scene seemed to be drawn by a different hand. He nodded slowly, obviously considering. "It's becoming," he said, still nodding. "Wow, Steven," I said, beginning to nod myself, "Thank you. That's exactly right."