Building a Life

After a big break up, it's hard work gathering up all the pieces of your life that are yours and leaving behind what was. I met my ex when I was just 16 years old and from that day forward he was an integral part of my life. I grew to love his family very dearly, even watched children grow up and go to college and start families of their own. In the meantime, the life I'd fashioned became ours and no longer just mines. I was in it, he was in it, our families were sprinkled in there, too. And all of my childhood bonds had fallen by the wayside. Then, more than a decade later, we broke up and I was unrecognizable. Not entirely, of course, but it took some getting used to. I had to rebuild just about everything. My routines, my expectations, my social life. Outside of my mother, he was my closest friend. And the other friendships that were still standing weren't very strong. One day I wrote out a list of my friends and it didn't sit well with me. I wasn't confident in the bonds between me and anyone, many of them were fair weather, fickle, "see you once a year or so" friendships. So I set out to build new, lasting, stronger friendships, and thus far I believe I have about 3. We don't have ten years under our belts yet but we're getting there. We're building. I just have to be patient and faithful. Making friends as an adult is much different than it is as a kid.
And then there's dating. I wasn't quite sure what I was getting into with that, lol. I've learned a whole lot and it's been very interesting. Finding someone to be my +1 has been like searching for a needle in a haystack. Either there is no chemistry between us, one of us likes the other but the feeling isn't mutual, or we're a perfect match except he's already taken. Or he lives in another state. I don't fall to pieces over it though. It took me way too long to put myself back together after The Ex. I just know that this, too, is going to take some time and patience, and diligent effort on my part. Social relationships are complex. Rebuilding a life from the ground up takes patience and I'm focused. It can get scary at times, wondering what the future will bring or how long it will take to bring what I need, or who I'll be when when it finally gets here. I want to love again and be loved. I want close, strong bonds with other human beings. I'm up for the challenge. I have the rest of my life.
The way I envision things, I will be happy with my +1, a bit older but wiser, living a relaxed lifestyle where we are the center of our worlds. We'll have plenty of personal interests that we can share with one another, plenty of friends who love us, we'll travel, we'll try new things, we'll teach each other, and learn and grow old together. That'd be a happy ending. But whether it goes that way or not, I won't die an unlived life. Even though these are my plans, they are peripheral. I'm still busy living, thankfully.

Back at square one (with spoilers)

Ugh! I might as well just stay here since I inevitably end up at this very spot time and time again. This evening my ex's sister invited me to a posh movie theater with cushy recliners and waiters bringing me free food and dessert all night, to see the movie "One Day," and it was the most realistic and depressing love story I'd ever seen. It wasn't fake romance, the kind of the love that many many movies have portrayed where the couple ends up together and everything is perfect in the end. Nope, not at all. It was sad and pathetic and realistic. The kind of real life love story we go to the movies to escape. I'm glad this was free and, were it not for the cushy recliners and the delicious free food (God, that lemonade was to die for) I'd be pissed that I wasted an evening watching that movie. And what's worse is, Anne Hathaway's character did exactly what so many women I know do - she led a miserable life, pining over a man who was living his up until he couldn't live it up any longer and had nothing left but baggage and nowhere else to turn...so he settled down with her, the woman he'd loved all along but never more than he'd loved himself. And then she gets hit by a bus. And she dies.
When the movie ended my ex's sister and my 26 year old niece and I could only sigh at one another and relate. Men are stupid and we love them anyway, like idiots. Why does love have to be so complicated?
I'm rambling, it's late, and I believe I'm being lied to, once again. I'm always skeptical but I'm usually right. I wish I weren't though. Guess I'll grab a blanket and get cozy over here at square one. Looks like I'll be here a while.
Good night.

“So go work on your house...

…and forget about it.” © Under the Tuscan Sun

That’s exactly what I aim to do – work on the house, and anything else that needs working on, and forget about it. “It” being my love life. I’ve dwelled on it long enough, don’t you think? And I’ve come to realize that there is no point in dwelling any longer, especially when there’s so much work that needs to be done and happiness that needs to be had. So this past weekend my step father came by to work on my yard. It was beginning to look like I’d begun a game of Jumanji back there and a lion would appear out of the foliage at any moment. And while he was back there I made him a sandwich, sliced up an orange, and then sat down to put together my hammock stand. It was truly exciting. I’m not kidding. I cannot wait until it’s sitting in my backyard and I climb into it and read a book or flip through a magazine. I have so many books on my shelf I’ve yet to read.

After I’d put the hammock stand together I wrote out a list of things I’d like to do to the house in the order I’d like to do them. Or, the order that made the most sense to me:


- Pour a concrete foundation behind the garage (bbq central)

- Paint front porch (it’s faded glory blues)

- Install new front door (curb appeal)

- Expand and remodel the kitchen (the heart of the home and the bane of my existence due to its size)

- Expand and remodel the bathroom (why not?)

- Paint the house (makes sense if I’m going to expand the back of it)

- Fence the house (the rugrats next door need no more access to my lawn)

These are mostly big ticket items, yes, but I plan to work as slowly and as comfortably as my money will allow. And in the meantime, I have other things, “inside” things, to work on. I’m budgeting fiercely and I’ve set a goal to save 10k by next summer. This is also Miles’ senior year of high school and he’s playing varsity football, which means he’ll need lots of cash for uniforms, homecoming, prom, pictures, yearbook, and whatever rigamoro the kids are being told they need these days. Then there’s my little side project, the little seedling as I’ve come to call it, that I am hoping to build into a Big Deal. I’m still mapping that out and it is also slowly coming to fruition. Labors of love, these are. But while I’m working on all of this and focusing on the things that I’d like to see grow for the better, I’m beginning to really like someone. The caveat is that he lives in another state. Womp womp. On the bright side, his living so far away forces me to accept that it is very unlikely that we will ever be in a position to be a couple, so whenever my mind begins to veer towards thoughts of possible dating and romance, I quickly snap out of it. These things just aren’t possible to do with hundreds of miles between us, so there’s no need in fantasizing. It’s quite unfortunate though because I do like him enough. But I have to accept what is real and logical. I am a grown woman, after all. So while I enjoy the times that he and I talk (the other day for an hour) or text, I don’t invest too much into it and I take it for what it is – a very lovely distraction. Although, the optimist in me refuses to let go of the idea that anything is truly possible, and that life is stranger than any fiction as well as any reality that I’ve cooked up and consumed, so while I lay outside in my new hammock, reading and daydreaming, I will certainly dream of him and the possibilities of him and I…however fleetingly and unrealistic they are, of course.

My Trip

(**This took me about an hour to write and load the pictures so please excuse any grammar mistakes and what not you might find if you decide to read it all. And this isn’t even the entire trip! Just a summary
of main events)

The afternoon sun slants through the clouds, every flower is in bloom. A variety of insects scurry about on the ground and through the moist, humid air, a rainbow of butterflies float by – blue ones, especially, which are the most popular, orange ones, white ones, and green. There is the color green everywhere. As I step out of the Mitsubishi SUV, a canopy of ruby and forest green trees of different kinds, palms and ferns and plants I’ve never seen before, crouch together above my head, fine grass and moss rest beneath my feet, and all around me bugs are buzzing. I am in Atenas, Costa Rica.

Costa Rica is rolling hills full of life – human, plant, and animal. Chickens, goats, and stray dogs meander alongside the windy roads we traversed to get to our various destinations, driving over bridges and rivers, past fields of pineapple, coffee beans, rice, sugar cane and other agricultural exports. Cows, bulls, and horses were often spotted grazing behind fences. Thick vegetation abounds. There are only two seasons in Costa Rica – winter and summer, Patty’s father explained to me as we drove along. Winter is in June, July, August and September and is typically humid, between 75 and 90 degrees, depending on what part of the country you’re in. So you can imagine what summer must be like in December, January, February, and March. I was grateful we chose to visit during the winter.

Our flight was late but after roughly 10 hours of traveling from start to finish, with a delay in L.A. and a stop in Houston, we finally arrived in San Jose, Costa Rica where my friend Patty and her parents picked us up. We drove to the nearby town of Atenas, where Patty's great aunt and uncle live. Juan V (short for Juan Vicente and usually heard as “Wonbee”) and his cheerful wife who Patty says reminds her of Mrs. Claus, live in a house that “Mrs. Claus’s” parents built more than 70 years ago. It’s a modest home on a large piece of land which is shared by their adult son and daughter, living in three separate peach colored houses. All of the homes are situated behind a concrete wall and a solid metal gate that opens from the street to a tiny bridge, built by Patty's uncle. The sweet smell of cast fruit (pronounced "cahst"), permeates the air there, and ninja bunnies hop around the jungly landscape. Ariel, Patty's 9 year old cousin, calls his bunnies "ninjas" because of the way they hop high into the air before smashing into one another in battle. The newborn bunnies were tucked safely away in a makeshift cage that sits atop a pole to protect them from ground predators. They sniffed our hands and gently nibbled our fingers through the cage feeder opening.

Where everybody knows your name…and how to find you
In town, everybody knows everybody. The homes and businesses in Costa Rica have no addresses. I’m not kidding. The mailman locates you by using coordinates and landmarks (i.e., “Go 100 kilometers north from the bank, 500 meters east...next to the hair salon…”). They were advertising and selling GPS systems but I’m not at all sure how they’d work and I didn’t get a chance to ask. But everyone seemed to know just where they were going, including Patty’s dad who drove us all over the place. It was as though he knew Costa Rica like the back of his hand.
The radio station played Return of the Mac a lot, but mostly they played a mix of reggae/reggaeton (in both English and Spanish), American/English rap, and songs in Spanish. Lots of people get around on bikes. Mausoleums at the cemeteries are above ground. Sort of like New Orleans, they don't bury their dead because of the rain. (In N.O., the land is too low to bury without hitting water, I’m told). There is a lady who goes around creating art on rocks. She paints beautiful landscapes on random rocks alongside the roads there. We drove around looking for them like we were on an Easter egg hunt. Many of the homes have tin roofs, and are made of concrete, sitting flat on the ground without a foundation. And tile. Carpet is out, tile flooring is in style in Costa Rica. Everywhere we dined, Patty and her mom ordered fresh cast juice and Miles and I ordered pina (pineapple juice). Freshly squeezed fruit juices aren’t hard to come by and were quite the treat for us, but the locals prefer sodas (ie, "eSprite").

Cool memories:
• Flying over islands and other unidentified land masses
• Watching novellas with shirtless, grave digging men (lol. Miles couldn’t understand why they had to be shirtless digging a grave at night. So Patty explained to him that it was to please the soap-opera watching audience – mainly women. Sort of like how unrealistic it is that busty, teenaged girls sit around pillow fighting in furry lingerie and panties for hours on end to entertain an audience of men. That doesn’t happen but lots of men like to watch it on T.V., nevertheless)
• Ariel and Miles playing Halo, so excited and happy about life
• Iguanas everywhere

• The water pressure in Juan Jose’s (Juan “Ho’s”) house dictates temperature in the shower. A blast, and it’s cold water you get. A trickle and it’s warm. Worst shower experience ever. I later learned by watching House Hunters International, that it’s called a “suicide shower” because it could electrocute you if you’re not careful :( Supposedly, they’re common in Central America.

A Simple Kind of Life
Not just a life of practicality, Patty's aunt and uncle seem to tie their lives to the land their house was built on, the beautiful oasis sanctuary that her aunt’s family had claimed and maintained for decades, secluded from the rigor of the small town behind a wall and a gate. They clearly don’t need many worldly things to find pleasure in their lives. Once a week they take painting lessons on the veranda of their home with a local painter who visits them. And they’re getting pretty good! The day we returned from La Fortuna (I’ll get to that adventure in a bit) they were all on the veranda painting beautiful landscapes that appeared to be coming alive before our eyes. They don’t sit in front of the television or the computer for long hours at a time every day, nor do they spend all of their time and money in shopping malls on materialistic crap. They go to work every day, paint in their spare time, and eat well and read the paper over a home cooked breakfast every morning, and entertain visiting family members and friends with jokes and stories from the old days. No rush, no fuss, no stress, just living. Making life.

As we sat outside listening to Juan V tell us funny stories about his days as a mannish alter boy, the black and white spotted dog, Oreo, strolled from person to person happily wagging his bushy tail, nudging his soft wet nose in palms and being petted and rubbed with affection. The ninja bunnies stealthily hopped about in the garden, being as mischievous as bunnies could be.

Barcelo Tambor – the all-inclusive resort
On our second day in Costa Rica, we got up early and had breakfast outside with Juan V and his wife. Black beans and rice, scrambled eggs, and bread with homemade guava jam, coffee (of course, it’s a staple in Costa Rica and what it’s most popular for) orange juice, and cast juice. Belly’s full, we packed up the Mitsubishi and set off to catch the ferry headed to Tambor Beach in Puntarenas (meaning “point”).

On our way through the city, it rained, making the drive feel so serene mixed with the bright green tapestry along the way. And even though there was overcast and no sunshine when we boarded the ferry, the humidity was thick enough to choke on. As though there was a big humidifier plugged in somewhere emitting steamy moisture into the air. I stood on the top deck, bare shoulders, legs, chest and neck clammy with sweat, then suddenly it would start to rain again; fat drops of warm water that blended in with my sweat. And, as suddenly as it would start to rain, it would stop. Then like clockwork, a breeze would sweep through and cool us down just a taste. A breeze so soft it was like the last drop of cool water in a cup, just barely satisfying, a tease, causing me to silently pray for more. Then, maybe, if we were lucky, a more substantial breeze would blow through, relaxing the senses a bit. When we exited the ferry in the Mitsubishi SUV, maneuvering around potholes up and down windy roads, we drove over several rivers and creeks whose banks were snuggled tightly against lush vegetation. It was a breathtaking sight but a difficult one to capture with my camera while in a moving vehicle, unfortunately.

Me vs the Sea – It was a draw?

Finally checked in and resting in our room at the resort, we could hear the waves crashing from the lanai, which really made me smile. I grabbed my book and headed out to the lanai to read in a hammock. But, after a few seconds, decided to take it down to a chaise lounge on the beach where I could hear and see the beauty of the coast in surround sound stereo. Laying on the beach in a lounge chair, letting the breeze tousle my already wind-swept hair while day dreaming of pirate ships drifting in on waves (along with logs and other debris loosened from the recent rains. That was the only bad part – murky water), coming to rest on the beach and hide. Maybe even bury some treasure. It was a sweet fantasy. Then, out of the corner of my eye I spotted Patty’s parents in bathing suits. “Go and get your suit and get in!” her dad waved to me. I wasn’t quite ready to get in, though, so I smiled and passively told him “Nah. Maybe later.” But he was relentless, he must’ve said “Go and get your suit and get in!” at least ten times until I finally gave up my weak ass fight and went back to my room to change into my bikini and drag Miles along with me. Miles ended up loving the ocean more than I’d expected. In no time at all he was far out there with Patty and her dad, jumping over waves. The beach at Barcelo Tambor is quite peculiar in that it doesn't slope. You can walk out for miles and the water will remain at waist or chest level, depending on your height; flat land, the same depth miles from the shoreline. Our first day in the ocean was great. It was warm and the dark brown sand beneath our feet was soft.

I ended up having a good time, too. But on the second day, the ocean had swelled up a bit. The waves were taller and angrier and had pulled many rocks from the shore, so our steps on the second day were no longer cushioned by soft brown sand. Instead, we were stepping on a fierce combination of sand and awfully hard rocks. But mostly rocks. I jumped over a wave to keep my hea

d above water and landed painfully on a bevy of rocks. My old feet and knees were done after that. So I moved over a bit, and then a bit more, but I couldn’t find a spot where there were no rocks. And as each wave built up, it would suck me in, drawing me into its belly. That is how people get swept away, I figured. It must have taken me almost fifteen minutes just to get out of that water and back on dry land. And I wasn’t even far out there like the rest of them! I was just feet away from the shoreline. What an awfully funny sight it must have been, watching me fall and stumble on rocks in my bikini, crawling and being knocked around by the oceans fist. At one point, I couldn’t even stand up. Wave after wave just clobbered me. When I finally made it out, I fixed my hair and headed for the pool and a daiquiri. I’d had more than enough of the ocean. Thankfully, no pictures exist of this debacle.

Patty's mom, Alicia, told me there are several types of beaches in Costa Rica. Manuel Antonio beach has soft white sand, Playa Conchal (meaning “shell”) is made up of billions of crushed seashells, another (I forget the name) has black sand and clear water. I wished I could see them all but there wasn't enough time.

“Oh, Moto…”

On our second day there, Patty, Miles and I went horseback riding. Moto, my attitudinal horse, started out the gate trying to bite any other horse that got too close to him. I mean, it was hot and sticky out there and flies were abundant so I understood his annoyance, but he worried me a bit. He seemed to be on autopilot, doing what he wanted to do or what he was taught to do by whoever broke his spirit and turned him into a slave horse. I’d pull the reigns the way Juan, our guide had told me to (tug right if you want to go left, tug left if you want to go right, and pull back if you want to stop, kick if you want to go faster) and Moto would still veer to the side of the trail to stop and nibble on plants or keep whatever pace he wanted to keep. I decided that as long as we kept with the group, we were good and that I wasn’t going to be the boss of him. He probably needed a break, poor thing.

When we’d made it to the beach, he kept looking back at me as he trotted along. Probably making sure it was me on his back after our brief discussion at the top of the mountain. I had looked him in the eye and whispered sweet nothings into his ear, sensing that he was not at all pleased to be going out that day, probably on his tenth or so run. I rubbed his neck and mane and thanked him for his trouble in getting me up the muddy mountain without throwing me off his back, because he could have easily pitched me down the mountain side as we traipsed up through that knee-deep mud, over protruding tree roots, through high, scratchy weeds and along a narrow cliff where a rocky stream flowed below. I held on tight for dear life, then. When we finally reached the summit of the mountain to take in a panoramic view of Tambor, we were greeted by the sounds of a howler monkey who wouldn't reveal itself for a photo op. It just kept taunting us with its cranky-sounding howl, probably for being on its turf. By the time our two hour ride was up I was thanking God for Henry Ford and the invention of the automobile. I don’t know how cowboys and cowgirls did it; my inner thighs were so sore.

As we wound down for bed that night, I loved the drumming of the rain falling on our patio mixed with the acoustics of the waves crashing onto the beach.

La Romeria – The Pilgrimage to La Negrita, our reason for being there
We checked out of Barcelo Tambor at 1130am and began our quick trek back to Atenas to pick up more luggage, and then on to San Jose, where Patty's grandmother lives and where we were meeting the rest of her family for the pilgrimage to pay homage to the Virgen de Los Angeles, the black Madonna, in the church in Cartago. We made a quick pit stop for lunch at Las Cazuelas de mi Tierra. Delicious food! Handmade tortillas, rice, beans, chicken, plantains, salad, and freshly squeezed juice! I could eat that meal every day for lunch for a month and not complain.

Our pilgrimage began at 630pm from Patty’s grandmothers house in San Jose, and ended at 1110pm, close to 5 hours later at the old church in Cartago. My knees hurt from bending with every step, my shoulder blades hurt, my back hurt from climbing up hill, my hips hurt, and, of course, my feet hurt, but they hurt the least of all, ironically. Thousands of people started walking days before us, and many thousands walked for days after us. By the time we had finally reached the church and stood in the crowd to enter the church, my body gave out. 10 minutes after reaching the church I stopped moving after 5 consecutive hours of steady movement, and I couldn’t go any farther. I needed to sit down and rest. To LIE down and rest. I was with Patty and Miles and Patty’s uncle, Carlos, standing in the crowd at the foot of the church, about 50 feet away from its entrance, being shoved and squished by dozens of people when, suddenly, I couldn’t hear out of my left ear. I began to feel extremely hot and my head started to spin, my knees were buckling, and my breathing became shallow. I used all the strength that I could muster and yelled over the loud music to Patty, Miles, and Carlos that I couldn't make it. "You're not going inside?!" Patty yelled back to me, sounding perplexed. "I can't" I replied. I had come all that way, from California to Houston to Costa Rica, and then by foot from San Jose to Cartago, and my body would not allow me to stand up any longer or go any further. I pushed my way back through the crowd in frantic search of somewhere to sit before I collapsed. People would not budge to let me through, no one wanted to give up even an inch of space as they all crowded to get into the church so I had to force my way out. Then, at last, I found an empty seat on the steps next to a bunch of other people and I sat down to rest. But I desperately needed to lie down. So I rested my head in my hand and my stomach started to swirl and tighten up. And thats when I began to vomit water and little pieces of rice. Thankfully, my last meal had been at 2pm and was long ago digested. Save for a few kernels of rice. It was my luck that I happened to be sitting directly beneath Patty's cousin, Jose Mario and his dad, Juan Mario. They flagged down two Red Cross workers who took my blood pleasure, which was 110/70 (normal by then, after I had vomited), and my pulse. I declined their offer to be carried to the infirmary. Then the two Mario’s helped me up from the steps and lead me by the hand through the enormous crowd, down a few blocks and to Patty's fathers’ SUV where I could lay down. But no sooner had I began to doze off did Miles come frantically knocking on the window to see about me. Jose Mario had called Carlos, who was with Miles and Patty at the church, to tell them that I was sick. Carlos told Patty and Patty told Miles, aka "Owen," who loves his mama (see: Throw Mama from the Train, starring Billy Crystal and Danny DeVito). At 16 years old, he'd made the pilgrimage, gone inside the historic old church, saw "La Negrita" face to face, and prayed. I was so proud of him. He'd witnessed a piece of religious history that is more than 400 years old. What an experience!

My not going inside the church was indeed a disappointment, but I had made the long pilgrimage and my heart had good intentions, so I was also proud of myself for having walked for five hours straight, up hills and down hills, alongside thousands of people with the intent to pay my respects and show my faith. I think I succeeded in doing that. And I brought my kid along and he did it, too. It was definitely an experience I will never forget.
(see pictures of us walking at the top of this post)

La Fortuna de San Carlos – the active Arenal Volcano

By day 6, August 3rd, Patty and I were pretty tired and sore from the pilgrimage to Cartago. All I could think about was getting a massage for my aching legs because it hurt to walk. The hotel even offered a “tired leg” massage. Instead, though, we all soaked in the Tabacón thermal hot springs pool at our hotel in La Fortuna. And it was pure bliss! Pura Vida! You could see the steam rising off the warm water as we floated around in the pool sipping on pineapples filled with pina coladas. It rained on us the first night we got in the pool, so we got both a shower and a warm bath. The soft, naturally heated, sulfur-infused water from the volcano is tunneled from a spring near the volcano, into a pool and cooled just enough for people to stand it the heat. It was just what we needed to relax and sooth our tired muscles. In fact, the water worked so well that the following day Patty and I hiked down 180 stairs into a forest near the volcano to reach a waterfall!

The waterfall stood 220 feet tall and came down hard and loud, creating waves that pushed swimmers away. And for good reason because you could get sucked in and drown if you get too close. We got in its pool and rinsed off our sweat from the humid hike. It was slippery, though, with all the moss covered rocks so we had to be extremely careful.

Oh, and according to the local newspaper, Will Smith was in town visiting La Fortuna around the same time we were there. He was looking for a location to film a movie with the director of the Sixth Sense.
(Newspaper photo of Will also up above)

Hasta luego - Going home, after 7.5 days
Periodically, black clouds would gather overhead and threaten rain. A few times they made good on those threats, other times they cried wolf and moved on to someplace else. But mostly we had great weather during our stay. On our final day we met up for the last time on the veranda for breakfast. Stepping off the side of Juan V’s porch I am surrounded by flora and fauna; luscious greenery everywhere you look. And, of course bugs. I left Costa Rica with my share of itchy bites the size of quarters. I also left Costa Rica smarter than I arrived. I practiced and learned a bit of Spanish, though my biggest regret is that I didn’t know more before I arrived so that I could better understand and communicate with my gracious hosts. But I also learned that we, humankind, are much more connected to nature than we think. We’re not only connected, we ARE nature. I knew this, to an extent, of course. But having grown up surrounded by so little of it in a city chock full of brick and mortar, where the nearest glimpse of nature is at a bug-sanitized park, I had forgotten that we aren't necessarily separate from it. We are it. And everything, every single unnatural thing that we do to nature, to our environment, we do to ourselves. So now my resolve to recycle and save water and waste less has increased.
In Costa Rica, I felt more American than I have ever felt while living my American life. I felt ignorant and ashamed of the things I'd never experienced for myself but had only read about or seen on T.V. and thought because I’d seen it on TV or read about it somewhere that I knew enough. Now I truly understand the importance of traveling and expanding your worldview beyond the television set. You see so much more, the view isn’t edited by whoever is feeding it to you through your television set. It’s first-hand. I’m glad that my son got to see that the world is much too immense to think that it resides in our respective "backyards," and to think that we've seen all there is to see by simply watching TV. During our flight, he looked out the window and marveled at the real-life “globe” and geography lesson we got from seeing all the land masses below. We have to remember that what happens on the rest of this gigantic blue marble does, indeed, affect us. And we are polluting the world. I saw the influence American’s have on other cultures for the first time and I shook my head at the stain my culture is leaving on other cultures. Every time Patty ordered cast juice at a restaurant, the server would look at her strangely and one of them even asked her, in so many words, why she didn’t want “e-Sprite.” As though soda is a treat and a novelty. It's good that you can only find cast fruit in Costa Rica. I hope it remains that way - special and unique. In this world, the whole is far more important than the sum of its parts. Unfortunately, I can't change the whole world; I can only work on fixing what’s in my backyard, and what’s in front of me. But every little bit adds up and counts.

"I'm talking abt u enjoying the things God gave you. The things God put on this earth to be enjoyed: silks, satins, good food, beautiful, real scenery with beautiful sunrises and sunsets...and remember, u are for yourself to enjoy, as well as others. Live, child, live. Lift those worries off your mouth and smile."

"Oh, aunt Tante. U make life sound wonderful"

That is what u have to do; make life. And we need to get up and get started on making this day a good one. Now. "

(Excerpt from J California Coopers book 'Life is Short but Wide')

It's been a minute

I've been meaning to post about my vacation for over a week but I've been too lazy, preoccupied with, well...being on vacation. I was focused, man. But now I'm back and today was my first day back at The Slave Camp so expect a real update soon. Costa Rica was great :) I almost got swept out to sea, I rode a surly horse through the mountains and on the beach, I hiked through the jungle to a waterfall and got in fully clothed, i ate great food, saw an active volcano up close and personal, bathed in its natural sulfur-laced hot springs, and walked for five hours at night to a church to see a statue from the 1600s that turned out to be less than 3 inches tall. But more about that later. It's after 10pm and I have work tomorrow so I'm going to bed.