Tag: Costa Rica

Crabs in a Big Brown Bucket

Meet Rafa. He has lived with all of his life until last night.

We are in Costa Rica wondering exactly what happened. But really we know. It’s gonna take a while to process.

Rafa’s Dad came to live with us over twenty years ago. He was living in a man camp. And kept getting fired from all of his jobs. I met him when a man building my fence asked to hire him. When I saw how Nestor held a hammer I knew why he got fired all of the time. I took the hammer from his hand. ‘It’s OK.”

He came to live with us. He got married. He had two children. We lived here like a family. Many things have occurred. We have been through a lot together.

Rafa graduated high school and wanted to go to college. I believe Rafa is an exceptional person with a high I Q.

His parents refuse to let him attend the University. We offered to pay for his tuition. He is now working as a laborer. He is now a laborer who belongs in academia. He wants to be in academia. I didn’t make this up for him.

His parents have moved to a Nicaraguan “hood”.

There is much racism here in Costa Rica. The general consensus is Nicas are not smart. Drunks. The women are loose. And they will never get anywhere. I have experienced a lot of racism dumped on this kid. And now I have seen it dumped on him by his own parents.

Unbelievable. They sincerely believe he needs to stay out of school. No education for Rafa.

Continue reading Crabs in a Big Brown Bucket

Circulo ~

At one time, here in Guanacaste, Costa Rica, a ponga was the way to go on the water. It was all you needed. One oar would do, if that was all you had. Get on the water and cast your lines. Fish were over abundant here. The coastline left behind, in a world of speed. Fast people living fast lives, simply were not here.

Now, the boats, people and construction is moving at a pace, equivalent of the sound breaking barrier aircraft of my youth. I lived in the country. Cecil Airfield was down the road. I would be sitting by the pool and here a boom. An aircraft breaking the sound barrier. I paid no attention. Why should I?

Today as I type, the boom here is evident. My sleepy village is alive. It’s a snake swallowing its tail.

Celeste

After a long and arduous walk across Costa Rica, Celeste finally laid eyes on the Caribbean. The town she arrived in was bleak, the ocean was overwhelmingly the ocean.

Celeste has been threatened all of her life. First is was the darkness of her home. Then it was socialization. She had to wear awful clothes, pray on her knees and talk to other children. It all seemed so pointless.

She swam at two. Rode a horse at three. She was born to be wild. Her mother introduced her to the beach. Things were good for a while. Then she left home at seventeen. Ill equipped. She suffered years of abuse from a violent, abusive husband. She was forced to live inland. Gulping in city air, burning her feet on asphalt and rubbing shoulders with hoodlums and creeps. Celeste maneuvered herself through life. She learned. Her internal life was one of question, always question. What the f*ck is going on?

Celeste’s external life was out of the box. She was called eccentric. She was smart, not dumb. She heard the walls call her an idiot. But she knew that was not true.

She died a while back and had crossed Costa Rica walking. She had to get herself across the border and into Panama. She could do it. Celeste could do anything. Anything she wanted.

Everyone else could go swim with the current. Bling Bling. Get yourself a red hot mortgage and burn yourself to the ground. But not Celeste. She believed in swimming against the current. Fuck the lifeguards. Fuck Apple. Fuck Facebook. But Instagram – she’ll keep Instagram.

With a bucket full of ocean water in one hand and a paint brush in the other, she began to create her new reality.

Buried at Sea

This is just a journal. Nothing more or less. Just words typed on a digital page. Important only to me.

After the funeral fiascos over the past five years, and the refusal of my two oldest sisters to relinquish funeral plots, following their bold embezzlements from my mother’s inheritance, I decided to be buried at sea. The ocean has been my refuge, my entire life.

The other day I had one of the worst days. It involved lifeguards, called Nippers.

I lost it. I couldn’t believe these little boys, which they are in my eyes, the same as I am an old lady, in theirs. They even name themselves small boys. They removed me from the water. I was removed from the water, by little creatures that nipped and bit. I just cussed.

I wish the best for them. I hope they “save” many people. I hope they “sell” many surf instructions. That was their mantra as they were asking me to leave the water. “I am surf instructor.” Hearing that, over and over, just did something to me.

I feel buried at sea, before my death.

I apologized to them for my behavior, but the beligerent boss, (short, red head) turned his back on me.

He had a assumed I was a rich tourist. He erred in his eagerness to possibly rake in 65 an hour, which is what they charge as “instructors.”

You know what they say about assumptions.

I love the ocean. I will just go somewhere they’re not.

That was the mistake in the first place.

A synonym for nipper is nuisance.

God Bless us All

They actually named themselves after a Mongrel dog. A little nipping terrier dog. I call that fitting.

Follow Your Bliss

I have been following Auntie Bubba for years. From back in the day when there weren’t as many blogs. You wrote and posted. The title and image would come up on a page. You could browse and read. They hadn’t yet come up with the algorithms that steer you like cattle through a gap. She lived as a nanny, in Paris, when I first set up a reading list. Then she moved to San Francisco. Got a scooter. Went swimming down by the SF bridge. Moved out of an apartment. Got money. Went to school. She’s is or was a burning man participant. She figures out how to make things happen for her. She documents it.

I have sponsored people much younger than myself and I advise them to check out her blog. You can do. You can achieve. Right now she is having surgeries and she gets in the pool to enhance her recovery. A life hiccup yet another thing I advise people to do. Heal. But will they do it. No.

I too follow my bliss. And yes, it’s hard work. And a lot of letting go.

We only have one life – that I know of. I’ve been on one adventure after another. I am getting older and you would think it’s easier. But it’s not. It’s the same. You have a plan, obstacles, hurdles and dismounts. The idea is to enjoy the journey.

Writing helps.

I can look back and know where I’ve been. WOW….it’s a lot.

I am planning a trip to Bocas Del Torro and it feels daunting. Every thing use to be dirt cheap. I don’t like spending money. Now there’s the COVID issue. Planes don’t have flights they use to have. You have to meet mandatory dead lines on tests.

WTF – you use to only have to consider marauders and murderers. Now that isn’t even an issue. I guess they are staying home to be COVID safe.

Now it’s high priced rooms and boat trips…..I can do this. – More will be revealed.

Thank you Auntie Bubba. You are an inspiration. Life is out there. Do it!

I am taking an ounce of my own advice.

!Costa Rica!

An international tourist destination. The once, lonely planet spot on the map, that people were scared to go to, is now a place that people, will sell everything they own, sight unseen, and traipse down here. Convinced they have found paradise. The tropics.

I had the smallest snake in my shower with me. I killed it. Then I had a tiny scorpion on the shower curtain. I killed it. This was in the last week.

As I am beginning to write the monkeys have begun to howl. I love that.

I have my Red Bull. Red Bull and monkeys make the world go around.

Continue reading !Costa Rica!

Loud and Silent Reminders

That's what photos are ~

That is what photos are ~ I need them.

At 4:58, this morning, I heard the first sound of the Howler monkeys. They might not be the first awake, but they are the first heard. Soon there will be a rooster and then the dogs, followed by the birds. I enjoy the rhythms of nature. My travels are like folding the corner of a page, to mark my place. It reminds me where I’m at, on the verge of a new chapter, divided by days. And who knows how many days, that will be. In twenty four hour segments I go from quarter time, to a stacatto pace, then TSA arpeggios, back to quarter time. That’s my rhythm.

The pleasantries of Potrero are so unlike the foreign, 1/4 mile red lights and road rage of Amelia. The sounding off fiery chutes, burning pulp to make paper, is my morning sound on the island. A lone car will start the day; the same time as the monkey’s howl. It’s timing. I’m tracking time.

It seems, that when I built my home here, I manifested an old and deep desire, to be an aesthetic. A childhood idealistic dream of life. Possibly a throwback, to my days of parochial school. I took it all seriously. Or were my desires innate, laying dormant, deep within, some segment of my DNA. Regardless, of it’s seemingly unplanned existence, I marvel at my cavelike abode. Even when my drapes are drawn and you can view the garden, you see nothing but green leaves, flowers, and animals through my windows. The interior remains dark, because of the over hang, the thousands of plants in the yard, and the monstrous mango tree, that provides shade for all, not to mention 300 mangos, last year.

The insulated feeling, of the concrete walls, covered with paintings, photos, stickers, posters and shelves, inch to inch, filled with knick nacks, and dust: every item in it’s place. I like it. The restful, secure feeling I have in my carved out space is one thing, but nothing compares to opening the front door, in the morning, and feeling the fresh air of Costa Rica. The breath, inspires a visualization, of what lays a short distance, on the bay ~ clean water!

This is my sanctuary. This is a slice, of my life. However, I will be headed home. Home to an island that people call paradise.

To each his own said the old lady that kissed the cow.

The dirt roads here, in the neighborhood, are filled with them. So, there are plenty to choose from.

Cheers ~