As if following the script of a better-than-average made-for-T.V. movie, our beloved guinea pig, Mouse died this morning. A few days ago, we pulled the little rodent and her daughter - Maisy - out of the cages for a “running of the guinea pigs.” Mouse has been with us for 5 and one-half years and Maisy is one of a lineage of eight cavies that followed.

Although the needs of children usually shove pets down on the attention scale, we still tried to get those piggies out for some fun. Oh how we giggled! If you haven’t seen a guinea pig’s bottom wiggle across the floor, you haven’t lived (put it on that list of 100 things to do before I die!). I noticed something odd but didn’t think much of it. When I snuggled the two creatures up on the yellow towel to rest Mouse sighed and closed her eyes - even with all the commotion - she looked like a tired little guinea pig.

This morning, something odd happened again. Usually Coco is responsible for feeding the animals. We gather together lettuce and set it on a plate. Coco goes out every morning and night and spends some time talking to them and kisses them good-night. Here’s the odd thing: This morning Coco and I ascended the stairs together, but I held the plate in my hand and said, “No, that’s O.K. I’ll feed them. You got to put those slippers on.” It was a cool morning.

I opened the cage; tossed in a cucumber; and stopped short of burying the lifeless Mouse in lettuce. She lay across the cage as if she’d stretched out to yawn and stuck there. How odd it was that I found the body and not Coco. Or was it? I descended the steps and joined the nanny and kids at the table while everyone finished eating. I gave hand signals to the nanny that we had a dead body on the grounds. We both knew what that meant. Soon their would be tears. The odd thing was, I had a little time to prepare for it.

I don’t believe in turning away from the facts of life. Look straight into it; feel IT all; and move on. For this much I know: If we don’t, IT sticks in our craw and causes havoc for years to come (but that’s just my little theory). If Coco had found the body, we’d have managed, but it was as if this script had been written for me, I just had to keep turning the page. Coco finished her breakfast, and I got to have a cup of coffee. Then, I retrieved the body and put it a towel so my daughter see the soft little face she so loved.

We moved to the living room, I nodded to the nanny a signal as if we were about to launch a secret raid. Coco wiggled around on the floor, pretending she was a dog. Her brother was thrilled. I called her over to the couch and looked into her eyes. I brushed back her hair and knew in less than a minute, there’d be tears. I took Coco to the body. As tears streamed, one after the other, over her cheeks, she leaned over and kissed her beloved pet good-bye.

“I love you Mouse. You were the best guinea pig ever in my life.”

We moved to the patio. I grabbed the shovel and found a spot of dirt that wasn’t a clump of roots. It’s odd isn’t it? Or is it? I have this feeling it’s not just chance. I have a feeling that the more in tune we all get with this good energy vibe; the more we unwrap ourselves and give to others; the more we become flexible and graceful at all times, the more we stay on the page and can see that movie unfold, the more empowered we become to direct the movies or our lives into gorgeous little scene, after scene, after scene…..

The nanny said a blessing and a prayer over the grave, and Coco made a plaque. Rest in peace little Mouse. Cross over the Rainbow Bridge to bliss. Run like you’ve never run before!

Every so often, my daughter breaks into tears about leaving her dogs behind. It’s only been ten months since our family fell apart, and some of the wounds are still fresher than I’d like to admit. Quite often her sadness will start out as something else, like getting mad at me. One evening, about 5 o’clock, Coco starting talking tursely with the nanny and her brother and me. Then, she began assaulting our dining chair. Hmmmmm…I thought. I bet this is not about the chair. When we sat down to eat, IT all came out. Whenever that “all-encompassing” job description is written for mothers, it must include - emotional sponge. I can see it now on my resume:

October 2000 - present: Emotional Sponge. From the birth of my daughter until present, I have grown large pours in my soul to absorb, process, and assimilate every feeling felt by every household member, which includes nannies, husbands and ex-husbands, and other children I occasionally care for.

Because mothers are there - even if they’re working moms - when we’re on the job at home or away (ever witness the flood of phone calls mothers get at work?) - all tears, anger, fright, fear, disappointment, confusion, joy, and boredom (the list is too long to name here) are directed towards the mother figure.

You seem a little angry Coco. Did something happen at school? I asked her. She squished up her face as though she’d just looked into the sun. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

Mommy, I miss Buddha! Why can’t we have Buddha?

The tears opened wide. There’s not much I could say. And every time this happens, I’ve learned it’s better to not act directly on the subject and start looking for Golden Retrievers in the Want Ads. Thus, I become a spong. I listen without trying to judge; without getting angry myself because I’d rather be eating in peace. She went on and on about how she missed her pets. When the tears ebbed, I saw a chance to steer the conversation over the hump. I made her laugh about something, and she used her skirt to dry some of those tears.

One time, I opened my mouth during one of those “sponge” moments. A moment I’m paying for to this day. When my daughter was in the midst of a tantrum at two years old, I opened my mouth and agreed to take home the stray guinea pig cradled in the vet’s hand. There’s no doubt cavies are cute (the more scientific term for us piggy owners), but all these creatures, from dog on down, poop. If it wasn’t for the pooping, I’d be thrilled with the little critters. But since they deposit their minerals in every corner of the house, they don’t come out of their cage often. But this night, I agreed to a “running of the guinea pigs” to help ease this pain about her dogs.

Addison was of course thrilled. He scooted around trying to catch them. He started out petting the animals, but after awhile got a little too excited and began picking them up by their hairs. When they got tired, we snuggled them up into a towel. Guinea pigs can live from 3 to seven years. Of course mine will most likely live until their thirty. It’s quite a price to pay for being a sponge and not knowing when to keep my mouth shut. So, I clean the cages and feed them a few times a day….wait a minute…did they get fed this morning??….sorry, I’ve got to run!

I was considering trimming this branch in my garden as it was growing quite large and shading the flowers underneath. It’s a good time to top off bushes and trees. With all the rain they’ll sprout new growth in like - seconds (it seems anyway). When I looked up, a clump of bugs lined the branches. But not one bug, several types. They were either duking it out or eating each other. Turns out they were helping each other.

Coco! I screamed, in a voice that was a little too excited.

Go get that book on animals! You know the one we’ve read like a billion times. Here’s those ants sucking the honey out of the other bug’s butt! Here’s that ant we read about!

I lifted Coco up to the branches and sure enough she agreed. Aphids at atop a bump, which was their nest. They had these long black and yellow antennas. Some were till making the nests and some were just there, brooding I guess. Behind several of the aphids was an ant. The ant was as big as the aphid. And sure enough, the ant was sucking honey out of the aphids behind.

Coco ran up to find her book. I get all tingly when we find a real-life example of something we’ve been studying. Coco looked in the index under chapter, Side by Side: Animals Who Help Each Other.

“Tiny green garden insects (these were a bigger cousin of the tiny version) called aphids make honey in their bodies from the plant juices they drink. Ants “milk” honeydew from the aphids almost like a farmer gets milk from a cow. Using it’s antennae, an ant gently strokes the back of the aphid. Out oozes a drop of delicious honeydew for the ant to sip.” The benefit for the aphid for putting up with being milked all the time (I can empathize after breastfeeding two kids!) is that the ant will protect the aphid from predators.

Every time the ant felt an attack coming on - even if it was just the wind - it would rear back, hoist up it’s antennas, and get ready for battle. I’ve been bitten by this ant, and I know it means business.

After explaining three billion things to my kids, it’s nice to see an actual example right in front of our eyes - and one that wasn’t set up in advance by “mommy trying to teach us something.” But here’s a secret: I’ll probably go out and check out those bugs a hundred times before the eggs are hatched and the group moves on. It’s like when I was a little girl and I’d lay on the dock. I’d peer through the cracks in the wood and watch the muscles stick their tongue out and move across the rocks. I could watch for hours. There’s something so mesmerizing, so simple, so just…just…right about it. I guess that’s whatt I’m looking at. And perhaps that’s what my children will learn.

Addison had a birthday party yesterday, so I walked to the mall to get a present. When I left, this cat was hanging out under the 4×4 in the corner spot. She’s the mall cat. We see her almost every time we go. She’s either lounging under a palm tree or snuggled under the warmth of an engine in the parking lot. When I took out the camera to snap a few photos, she stepped out and began doing that cat thing of rubbing up against me, purring, and then peaking in my bag.

There are so many stray animals, I am sometimes afraid to pet them or even talk to them for fear they will follow me home. Been there. Done that. I’ve rescued more animals than Noah. However this cat was well fed. She has some place to go when it rains and at night.

Later that afternoon, while my son and daughter jumped around on inflatable bouncy things at the birthday party, I took in the sites: Cinderella hanging from the ceiling and the princesses, with their heads tipped a bit to the side. I sipped on a super-sugary cafe mocha and smiled at how much that little tilt of the head reminded me of the mall cat. Then I had to smile. I’d forgotten the present I bought was a sticker book of cats. Four princesses, cats, mall….there’s got to be a message in all this, right?

Being a parent means I get to be an expert in everything - or at least in the eyes of my children. Coco’s learning a song for a father’s day breakfast. The moment she got off the bus, she starting singing off-key (sadly she’s inherited my genes here) to You’ve Got a Friend. I joined in. She looked up at me because not only did I know the chorus, but I knew other versus, all the versus. For a few moments - before I explained to her that the song was written by one of the most successful female song/writer singers in the last fifty years named Carol King and the album was this huge success - I was in that goddess status of: mommy knows EVERYTHING.

I waited until I got into the house to explain that Tapestry was one of the biggest albums - like ever. I mean, four Grammy Awards, Album of the Year, Song of the Year. Carole King was such a big roll model for me. She did IT back in a time when girls were stuck with imagining what life “could be” like if only we could dress, act, and be more like a man - THEN, we’ll be making some serious money and get all that respect. Carole came out as herself with this one and the world ate it up.

We sang the song a couple of times over. Coco’s already got that kereoke thing down. She tilts her head and does heart-felt hand gestures to the words. We played the song at breakfast a couple of times. Addison clapped, though I spared him the brief history of the great song writer behind the words since he’s only two and would prefer to rip the CD cover to shreds than listen to what I know. I showed Coco the album cover and she said:

She’s got a cat. She’s lucky.

The bus arrived and Coco and I mouthed the words together as she buckled up. Addison blew me kisses as he was plopped into his car seat. The door shut, and I went back inside. The house was quite. I pushed play and listened to the entire album.

Almost every morning, there are three to five dead cockroaches - on their backs - on my first floor. As the kids finish up their breakfast before getting on the school bus, I walk around, broom in hand, in search of carcasses. We’ve all gotten over - to some extent - the icky feeling a cockroach brings on the moment it appears. Addison puts his hands up to his sides, palms wide open, and flutters them with a big OOOHHHhhh expression. Coco will yell out: Cockroach! and in a very matter-of-fact manner, put her shoe on and attempt to kill it. She often misses, and I’m left to follow after the crippled insect and finish the job.

Some things just bring on shivers automatically: cockroaches, humming with your lips together, running nails against a chalkboard, a pee in the middle of the night, or protein drinks. The nannies and I got in the habit of counting them. Four this morning! I got six! Slow night - only two. Sweeping the bodies up is annoying because the legs stick in the straw and when I go to swish them onto the dustpan, several of them are hanging down and I can’t get them off.

Then, someone ALWAYS starts in with a round of La Cucaracha…..

La cucaracha, la cucaracha

Ya no puede caminar

Porque no tiene, porque le falta

una pata para caminar.

Why do they die on their backs? I suppose there is some scientific explanation, but I like to imagine that the ones that make it out to the ceramic tile managed to escape torture within their tribe. Crawling inch by inch with every last ounce of dignity to a place where they can peacefully “cross-over” to the other side. With one last breath, the tip over, ask for forgiveness, and die.

Before moving to Costa Rica, cockroaches were something “other” people had. Not me. Here, everybody’s got them. They do not discriminate. And a fumigation will get rid of a crop under the sink and behind the cupboards for awhile, but they’ll be back. Heck, these blattodeas can live a week without their heads. Talk about a shiver.

I respect this bug’s right to live right along with the mosquito and the flea and the fly. But in my home, I feel like it’s self-defense. The poop can spread disease and can increase the severity of allergies. I suppose I’ll always let out a little scream when one lands on me, but I kill now without remorse. Late one night, I went downstairs to get some water. A cockroach ran across the floor in search of a hiding place. It bumped up against the wall before I could do it in. I wasn’t in the mood to hear that “crunch” from the kill. It ran onto the wall and finally found a place to disappear. I finished the water and turned off the light. I bid goodnight to the insect, knowing this was most likely his last.

As I was packing up school lunches, I read the “communications” book my daughter comes home with every day. It is a green notebook with notes from her teacher about school. It’s quite a good system. If there’s a field trip, or special dress day, or a note I need to send to the teacher, I write in it. I try to glance at it immediately after every school day in case there’s an assignment for me “to do.” I forgot to look Friday, and I paid for it. Sunday night I had to trudge to the market and get a loaf of bread and a jar of jelly for a gift basket for the school’s janitor and lunch lady.

The supermarket was jammed. Why? I thought. Shouldn’t all you people be home on a Sunday night? Especially since it is pouring rain!! It took me ten minutes to find a place to park. I bumped into people up and down the isles, checked out, flipped my sweatshirt hood back up, and walked back to the car.

As the rainy season starts, we get a few good downpours as if mother nature says: Remember me? Do you remember where your umbrella is? When I’m without the kids, I often go without the umbrella and just get a little wet. The flowers here provide a lesson in durability. The delicate ones eventually wash away. A great many like the heliconias have a waxy skin that lets the rain roll off it’s back, much like a duck. Their roots will bind up a clump of dirt so hard, it would take a backhoe to get them out. For a long time, I sought books as one of my greatest teachers. Can’t get enough of them. As Heinrich Mann said:

A house without books is like a room without windows.

They offer insights and vision into the world.

And flowers? This is the world we are. If the world were filled with flowers, maybe we could be as grounded as they are and all that discomfort would just roll off our backs, even on Sunday nights in search of raspberry jelly.

Since moving to Costa Rica, I’ve done what so many other soft hearts have done: rescued dogs. But for me, it didn’t start in Central America. I had this “habit” for years. In the States, I adopted two mutts (while at the same time finding homes for so many others) and lugged them down here in addition to another dog and I cat. Since those have died, it seemed the Universe knew I was ripe to take in a few more. I found Buddha, along with her seven siblings, in sort of a “nest” on a walk one day. Long story short, we found homes for all seven; got most of the females spayed; and took home this one: This really active, high strung, super intelligent one. I think she faked being the shy one in the corner when I would visit the foster home to help pick off flees and bath the wild group of puppies and their mother. When she looked at me with those eyes, I was sunk.

Then a few months later the other one Canella - Cinnamon - hung out in a gutter during the rainy season and wagged her tail as I walked by every day with Coco in the morning. Another long story short, this canine one day decided I wasn’t going to get away (o.k. maybe it had something to do with the turkey baloney I fed her for a few days). Well, she gained enough strength to follow me home with a broken leg. Who could resist a raggedy dog, limping, big brown eyes leading a soulfully wagging tail?

When separation of a family happens, everything must be divided up, including animals. I had to leave the dogs behind. And now with a special needs child, I can’t manage the energy it takes to handle dogs. Just keeping up with the guinea pigs is enough. On the day I left them, I spilled this huge jug of yogurt from my organic food delivery. Buddha and Canela were right there to help me out with the clean up. There are things I miss about the dogs, but I have come to terms with where I am at and let go. I know they are well taken care of, and I even get to see them once and awhile. The best thing they’ve taught me? their complete surrender to this moment. I threw them a biscuit and hoped that I too will be like them: flea free, waggin’ my tail, and totally present. Bark. Bark.

At least once or twice a week, I can count on looking right up a horse’s behind during a long mountain drive. And if it’s not of the equine persuasion, I’ll be staring at the business end of a bovine, or porcine. It’s slow going when I get stuck behind one of these little trucks. But I always get stuck behind one of these little trucks. Luckily this one wasn’t spitting out stinky diesel fume or burning oil. The horse’s didn’t emit anything either.

There’s no where to pass, as you can see. So, it’s another lesson in patience. In fact, I like to turn it into one of those weird and hilarious music videos I see on a daily basis. The Crash Test Dummies come up on the shuffle:

How Does a Duck Know?

How does a duck know what direction south is? And how to tell his wife from all the other ducks? You can cut a chicken’s head off, but it will keep on running and twitching….

When everything seems planned out. Everything seems nicely planned out. Well the human race will come smack your face……

And when the Dummies fade and Billy Holiday begins a delicious Cole Porter ditty, I turn up the volume and sit back and enjoy the view.

I sold lemonade on the corner of my block. Little table, a sign, and a few cups…I think I made 30 cents. So my daughter decides one day off from school she’s going to sell lemonade. She makes the sign - in Spanish and English - squeezes the lemons - which are really green limes here - decides on a price of 100 colones (about 20 cents) and sets up for sale.

It’s amazing how songs and traditions pass down like blood pumping away, and we don’t even know it. I told her nothing about selling lemonade on the street corner. Well, today it’s in the condo complex, but the lessons are all the same. The budding entrepreneur made 300 colones. As she wait sitting for more customers to pass, she drank the rest of her profits.