The long-nosed coatimundi, or pizote in Spanish, is a nimble, racoon-like animal that scourers the jungle. The advantage of being so nimble has turned into a challenge for survival as many troupes of the animals find little food left.

Near the Multiplaza mall in Escazu, Costa Rica, habitat has been covered with concrete. Left with little choice, the coatimundi often hunts in trash bins. We’ve passed the huge dumpsters behind the Outback Steakhouse seeing sometimes up to 30 or 40 of them, from babies to adults.

About a week ago, I saw this sign go up to “adopt a pizote.” My daughter and I decided to lend a hand. The restaurant told us to just bring in some fruit. So we did. We trudged the bag of papayas and bananas through the pouring rain and handed it to the hostess. She explained that the restaurant is working with the ministry of health to give a more suitable environment for the animals.

We were happy to hear a few other people had already dropped off some fruit. I hope it wil continue to catch on. No matter where we are in life, there is always something we can do to lend a helping hand - or paw.

Coco brings me a drawing every day. She folds it, usually backward, and puts: To MAMA on one line, and then LOVE COCO underneath.

Where ever I am, I have to unfold it and study it. There is usually long story behind the photo. She’s been working on the idea of perspective in drawing: What’s close is bigger; what’s farther away is smaller. I’ve taught her this joke that was on Kid’s in the Hall. (Great show if you’ve never seen it. Hopefully Internet world could make these shows live again.) I digress…..

On the show, Mr. Tyzik (Dave Foley) would “crush” people with his finger. If he’d get mad or frustrated with someone, or even for a little harmless fun, he’d eye someone far away and “pinch” him between his thumb and forefinger.

“I’m crushing you!” he’d say, with a long rolling “rrrrrr” sound.

So Coco and I drive around crushing things - without the mean intent; we’d be in it to gain a little perspective - the closer the object, the bigger the pinch. The sun, oh so far away, we can usually crush with a quick pinch. She’s gotten down the “rrrrrrr” part too. Since she’s bilingual, she can roll a mean “rrrrrrrr.” A building in the distance takes a bigger pinch, and so on.

The latest picture was of a bird flying home to the babies in the nest. The mother was close to us as was the rose bush with one blooming rose. The babies were far away, but not such a distance that we could crush them. Their little eyes peeked out of a hole in the tree, waiting for their MAMA. And, she always comes home to the nest. From Coco’s perspective, this is the absolute truth. I guess as close as I loom in her large in her psyche, I present a bigger perspective, perhaps, than I really am. As she grows away, to be her own, she’ll look back, from a distance and hold me right between her finger and thumb.

Note: This story first went on-line in 2007.
We still enjoy a good round of crushing here
and there, especially on long rides in the car.

I reached out and touched it. Didn’t want to. Had that squeamish reaction, and I squealed just like a child. It wasn’t as bad as I thought. Funny thing is, those things we fear are never worse than we imagine in the first place.

Snakes, those plentiful creatures in Costa Rica, arouse intense feelings for many the moment we see them. My personal snake handler knew what he was doing when he showed me around the World of Snakes.

The place was not easy to find, and though once I got there, not difficult to understand where it was. However, the trick was the journey.

On my way to World of Snakes in La Grecia, Costa Rica I got lost for over an hour and almost ran out of gas. Directions are a challenge in getting and following here. There’s always so much more information that not only meets the eye, but is given out. For example I just wanted to know whether to go straight or go back to where I was. The woman on the phone told me about the neighboring cities and a restaurant with an anchor. Then of course it started to rain. A lot. It’s just not all that fun driving on mountain roads in the rain, worrying about goats and dogs that migh dart out from nowhere.

Luckily, the snake handler was able to open some of the cages to the (duh??!!) non-venomous snakes. I got a few shots and returned for the long way home.

How does one get to snake world? (Just in case you were wondering.)

1. Get the directions to Zoo Ave. They’ve got good direction on their website. Or, actually stop in their abundant parking lot and go in and ask, they’ll give you good directions. Pass Zoo Ave and go straight until you hit a restaurant with an anchor called Princess Marina. (That was an important part of the direction giving process.) Turn left and go about 15 kilometers on a very windy road. Hit a fork in the road, stay left. Otherwise ask and ask some more. Each direction will be a little bit different than the last, but alas a world of snakes awaits at the end. (The phone number, at this time anyway, is 506-2494-3700.)

Hundreds of large, black ants scurried out of the squirt holes of the bidet when I turned the water on. Every night, these creatures left their nest in search of food and flooded my bathroom. Needless to say, at one in the morning, this can be annoying and even dangerous as their bite is a lot worse than their bark.

In narrowed down the nest site when I watched the window for many evenings and saw no trail begin there. I taped up holes for the drainage in the bidet, and the ant stream dwindled to nothing that night. The next day, I saw a crud of crumbly, “nesty” stuff protruding for the drain. Since we do not use the bidet as their is a toilet and two showers in this bathroom (as well as three other bathrooms in the house), I turned on the water. What I saw next should be saved for reading when one is not eating anything cream-colored.

Oval eggs, the hatch-ling (do we use that word for unborn ants??), spilled into the bidet. Big and small black ants followed, some as if they were going down a giant wet slide. What to do?

Costa Rica is alive. And keeping it outside is impossible. Maybe calling the fumigating guys with the “bug-earred’ cars is an option, but who wants to breath that in once a week? The bathroom is connected to the bedroom and the kids use this bathroom all the time due to the tub. I’d like to just remove the bidet, but I’m renting. I’m a little nervous even if we do find a way to get rid of the ants, that crumbly next stuff and ant poop will begin to rot.

So the challenge goes on. The cockroaches have returned and I am sure hunt the ants through the night. It’s kind of a creepy place, my bathroom, even with the cute decorator baskets and matching towels. It’s a horror film at night. Maybe this is a job for duct tape!

We tip-toed through the thick of trees for the elusive birds of paradise. I strained my head up-wards and could hear them but saw nothing. Then, from a swaying branch we saw one! Quickly it disappeared back into the dense green foliage.

Mom! I’m stepping in bird poo,” said Coco as she tip-toed through the spotted, white grass. “What are they doing up there?” All around Costa Rica, around 4 o’clock in the afternoon, parrots gathering in trees and squawk. And squawk. No matter how hard we looked, we couldn’t see any of the green parrots in the green trees.

“I’ve seen this a lot honey,” I said as I grabbed her hand so we could find our car in the parking lot. “I think they’re just getting together to chat.”

“What are they saying?” she asked.

In my best “parrot-imitation voice” I began talking about the things I think parrots would like to share at the end of a long day of foraging and being a bird: Where the best food spots were; perhaps one knows another parrot that would be a good date; cool spots to hang in the hot afternoon…..

Coco leaned back in her booster seat in the car and looked through the window. “They really say that?”

“Listen,” I said. ” I think the birds know it all. Who else would talk that much other than a know-it-all?!”

I see what all the commotion is about. After years of remaining clueless about “texting,” I have discovered what’s at the bottom of all those messages.

Last night, when I got a message in Spanish about dreams and wishes coming true, I was shocked at how tingling I actually felt. Even when I realized it was a message the person probably sent to everyone in her telephone directory, it didn’t matter in the least. In a matter of seconds I was smiling and pushing buttons to send a response.

One of the problems is, I am terribly slow at the button pushing part. Also the buttons on my phone are sticky, I can’t read the alphabet or numbers anymore, and I send most messages in Spanish. About thirty minutes later, I got my response out.

Although it might be quicker for me to saddle up a horse an ride him into the sunset, I just can’t help feeling that extra-special-something when my ring tone sings it’s tune: Mensaje a leer.

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.

Then, those things we’ve struggled so hard for start to fall into place. Addison now walks with ease. He races across the living with glee and looks like he’s in a walking race as his arms move to pump him along. The two are not quite coordinated yet.

He stands up on his own. And he got his captain’s license.

Ok. So, I’m kidding on the last one. But he IS definitely the captain of his own ship - setting sail and heading down stream.

An estimated 200 rotting, dead, fermenting cockroaches littered my kitchen floor. I ordered a fumigation while I was traveling - something I’d suggest everyone do - and a scheduling glitch stalled the cleaning woman from coming for over a week.

When she walked in the door, she almost vomited. It makes me shutter to think where all of them were hiding. Sizes varied from tons of babies to loads of adults. She’d only be able to clean so long and have to step outside to breath.

This is a subject that should not be photographed nor lingered over too long. These creatures have figured out how to outlive many species. I’ve heard they can live seven days without a head. One thing I know for sure, they’ll be back. They’ve outwitted a lot smarter people than me. We’ll spray again (he assured me it was non-toxic) and start the whole battle again.