On December 26th every year in San José, Costa Rica there is a horse parade. It is famous for the horses that gather and saunter down Paseo Colón - el Tope. It is famous for the gorgeous horses that prance, their hooves held high.

It’s also famous for being hot and being long and being, well, full of the spirit that fills men up. We watched as these beauties took a shortcut to the long grass and find water after a long parade. Men with tequila bottles clutched to their chests walked horses past us the whole afternoon.

I highly suggest la Sabana park to sit on the sidelines and look for the beasts to pass. The kids get a thrill, the hot sun is cooled by the shade of the trees, and the spirit quickly passes.

Move to a new level. Whether I like it or not, my son has pushed me to a new level of myself. Challenges arise I never expected to part of my palette. Orthopedic doctor recommendations were for someone else; breathing specialists for the person over there; swallowing my pride for another time - another place where it’s more comfortable.

Down Syndrome has moved me into a place where I am so uncomfortable, I wriggle with annoyance. I never expected this. I assumed all would be smooth, even in my difficulties. I assumed tackling this special needs thing would begin and end every day like it had in the past -a few more appointments were a simple inconvenience.

Yet I am awed and humbled and almost slapped silly at how challenging it is to manage all this. All this special stuff. But, in the end, it is nothing. Nothing compared in what my son has to deal with in learning how to put one foot in front of another or how challenging it is to climb a ladder we all find so easy to do.

I bow my head in his presence. He’s taught me how to climb higher than I ever imagined possible. His shoes I will never be able to fill. I guess I will be blessed to follow close behind.

The Costa Rican coffee is on it’s way to our tables. Another summer blows into the Central Valley and workers, many immigrants from Nicaragua, scour the fields in search of that prized red berry.

After picking the bean must have a red skin removed, which has a gummy, sticky layer to it. Then it is dried and raked and dried some more. This harvest will be sent to brokers and it is hard to say when that bean that used to sit blooming on this branch will reach Starbucks or Gloria Jean’s. Already, tiny new buds sprout in preparation for next year’s crop.  Rows and rows await another season of rain so they may bring forth fruit again.

It’s an awful lot of work for a crop that we consider an “extra” in life. But what an extra it is.

Traditional holiday photo turns out just as expected. In the heat of the moment - every year before gifts are ripped into - things tend to get out of hand. Sensing I’ll loose that “Christmas Card” look, we pile in front of the tree for that special shot.

A few years ago, Addison wanted nothing to do with his sister. This year, that theme continued. However, he was extremely unhappy when I set up the camera for a self-timed photo. He thought I quite taking pictures - of him - all together.

As you see, this was the result. But it didn’t last long as his attention quickly turned to all that stuff waiting for him under the tree.

Hope your holiday - in whatever shape or form chosen to spend it - connects you to a joy that will last the whole year.

Last minute holiday gifts are a snap to find in Costa Rica. Though it may be too late to pick up an odd little reindeer made out of wood shavings, there’s so much more to found.

Hand-made wooden toy trucks and kid’s tables always find their way roadside come this time of year. And my favorite is the painted pig. Rows and rows of pigs burst out and stand curbside, waiting for a home to call their own. They are usually painted in two basic patterns: The swirly lines and the wiggly ones. And they are almost always yellow. A piggy bank I believe. I’ve never picked one up for fear of toppling the pigs out of their orderly row.

So, if that Wii just doesn’t fit the budget, or the necktie bores as yet-another-repetitive gift - go ahead - and pick up a pig on the way.

Happy Holidays.

Going in with a budget to spend on holiday gifts, I felt strong and determined to stick with it. Over ten years ago, Christmas in Costa Rica was pretty quite - the loudest noise coming from the fireworks at night. Strolling down the street, one would pick up trinkets and toys, or clothes and candles, from a muchacho. Today, the malls are grander and the shopping a hot ticket. The new entertainment of the last few decades fills the parking spaces by 10 a.m.

A few days ago, I ran off to the mall before it opened. Though I had no idea what to get the kids, I marched in determined to keep that budget. Then in a toy store where all the items over the years begin to look the same, I pushed my little cart right in front of things that were perfect. I mean perfect. It didn’t take long to start justifying going over my budget: I’ll eat a 1/2 piece of toast for breakfast for a month and skip the coffee. I’ll squeeze another month out of that mascara. Oh, but won’t Addy have fun with this!

I lugged home a bag that was heavy and awkward. I am not sure if I’d won or lost. The budget took a hit and perhaps I’m too weak around the edges to resist toy stores at Christmas. It will take little time to blast through the presents Christmas morning and kick around spent wrapping paper. After the rush, we’ll get hungry and tired and the wait for next Christmas will start all over again.

(Photos of the thrilling event soon to come!)

One year turns into the next. Before I knew it, I looked back and realized I’ve been in Costa Rica almost twelve years. And all though the calendar will turn another year and we’ll on sing onward into getting into shape and making new promises, somehow it always seems to circle back to the basics.

When Coco asked me “why do my eyes get googgy” when I read. I smiled and inside was shouting that this is it! This little moment is what I live for. Not soon after she began to whine and I sighed. Thus, starts the circle again.

Dressed to the nines, my daughter and I set out to the mall. It was time to do a little Christmas shopping. With leather jacket, and hat, and painted nails she looked like a girl, quickly growing up. “Wait I have to get something!” she yelled before we left.

She came back down the stairs with a stuffed kitten. She said she couldn’t go shopping without it.

As we walked into the mall, I looked down at my growing, modern girl, tossing her stuffed kitten in the air. She’s nine. And four. And will be twelve - oh so soon enough.

Resisting the inevitable usually brings about the inevitable. Although far behind most Costa Ricans by weeks, I finally got the Christmas tree up.

The young man in charge of the Christmas trees at the lot took one look at me and told the price of the pretty small tree standing before me was $20.00. I wriggled my eyebrows together and asked him if perhaps he had something smaller. We walked over to another tree, a bit greener but about a foot smaller. He told me it too was $20.00. As I walked away, he ran up to me and said I could have the first tree for $14.00. Deal done.

Getting the tree to stand up in the base was not easy. Coco ran through the house looking for pieces of wood. I remember once a friend used a bucket of cement chunks and string to hold her tree up. I considered this option but didn’t know where to find concrete at that hour.

Once standing (thanks to fishing line and those wood chunks), we started putting a few ornaments on it. As I reached to put a delicate little ball on top branch, the tree fell on me. After getting it up again, Coco over-filled the base with too much water, and we had a small flood. After stopping the leak, Addison began to take the ornaments off the tree. When I went to sting the lights, only half of each one worked. Finally, Coco began crying again for her guinea pig that just died. It was time to go to bed.

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas. Joy in every land???

The rain has been swept away by the December winds in the Central Valley of Costa Rica. The dry season means a lot of great things, including getting reacquainted with our beautiful sunsets and airing out the nooks and crannies of closets. I always find this change of season also brings along with more drama than I’d been expecting.

Happily, I’ve returned to hanging up laundry as it now dries in a flash. As I was slipping shirts on hangers, I heard a scream that was the kind reserved for major child drama. I turned around to see a red-faced Coco with a dead guinea pig hanging from her hands.

If you’ve ever been in a car accident, you will know there is that time that slows down - as if it spins in slow motion. When I saw the dead animal, I saw the rest of my afternoon play in slow motion before me: Tears; wailing; heartbreak; shovels; dirt; digging; a funeral. Coco cried so hard she started to cough. If I didn’t get the nuts and bolts of the burial moving forward, I’d be wiping back tears all afternoon and non-stop questions of that dreaded “next pet.” I had to move fast to move on.

“Let’s get a towel,” I said, afraid of what can happen to a warm, dead body when it’s dangling from the hands of a desperate child. Maisy was the last in a lineage of nine guinea pigs. Though we gave away most, three remained. The mother of Maisy died in June of last year.

“I need new pet! Who’s going to be my pet?” she said between choking on her spit. While my daughter was trying to fill the whole of a broken heart, I couldn’t help but think about taking back a cute little balcony I have - with a view of the mountains. It was the only place I could put the critter and not attract rats and thousands of cockroaches.

It didn’t take long to process the death. I told Coco we should work on being grateful for the life Maisy gave us. We can’t think about new pets when we have to say goodbye to our old ones. It seemed to work. She went off to play, coming back once and awhile to check on the burial plot. After searching for 1/2 with my shovel, I finally found a place in my small garden that wasn’t root bound. I soaked the ground with water and chopped back roots to make a place, I’d hoped was big enough. (Thank goodness it wasn’t a rabbit, or it would have never fit.)

I got a Bible my grandmother gave me; a rosary my father had; and a Virgin Mary Coco got from one of her nannies. I guessed Maisy was going down as Catholic - or at least a good Christian. She was loving and shared while on this earth. Coco and I stood at the grave. Then, I heard this non-stop crunching.

“Do you think could stop jamming those cookies in your mouth while we have the funeral?” I asked her.

“Oh. Yeah,” she said, but not before shoving one more in her mouth. After setting the bag aside, she bent down to say her goodbyes. Then, I said a few words. We hugged.

“Can I go play?”

“Sure,” I said. I took the shovel and covered up the rodent. She was so much bigger than I’d remembered. I covered the grave with plants and rocks and set the Virgin Mary on top.

That night, I sat on my balcony. Over the time the guinea pig had lived on it, I hadn’t noticed my distant view of the mountains had been taken up by palm trees. It’s almost hard not to have a view in Costa Rica. The one shown in the picture above is a view from someone else’s home, but one can look up or down and easily see the majesty of any mountain side or top - wherever we are in Costa Rica.

Oh well. I sighed.  It didn’t matter. I could stare at the same tree and never see all it has to offer. The wind blew and the leaves rustled. I looked down upon the grave and said: Thanks Maisy. May you run with all the other guinea pigs in the sky.