It may be a few days or two until I can post. If I’m luckily - and they don’t shoot me at the airport, I’d like to throw up a word or two from during my five hours of trying to find something to do in New York. I look forward to visiting the homeland. But all the while…..
I’ll be thinking of you, and singing under my breath: Do you know the way to San Jose?
Ex-pat life involves airplane travel. Many lives do these days. Some of us live in New York and fly home to visit the folks. My brother travels all over Europe and the Mid-East for his job, squeezing in visits with his kids while balancing the duties of work. I’ve flown home to Minneapolis, on average, about once a year. Last year my life crumbled into a broken cookie, so I stayed put. Since then, I’ve been finding new ingredients and baking up a storm. We’re going to the homeland! Minnesota here we come.
Packing and planning for a trip to the States is an art. Not only do I have to survive a 12 to 13 hour day in airports with two kids, but I plan out my year for the “things I’ll need.” What do I need that Costa Rica couldn’t give me? Not much, but there’s a few things….and since I’m going to the land of plenty- it’s a great bonus to be able to haul them back in my suitcase. Most items I bring back are vitamin supplements that can not be sent here. I’d have to get special permission to get a box of food/vitamins/drugs, and well, nailing myself to a tree would be more pleasant than the thought of dealing with the government, it’s paperwork, and it’s spooky, deep love of stamping every thing with timbres (official seals). On past trips, I’ve hauled back a juicer, crib linen set, and all the Christmas gifts from the relatives. Everyone who lives here does it. Once, a friend told me he hauled down a side of beef. Another packed a bathroom vanity because the “selection was so awful here.”
My relatives are quite used to my odd urges of stuff I have mailed to their houses. A box will arrive; they’ll email me about the contents; I’ll check the receipt and make sure it’s all there; they place it in “my” corner and wait for the next package. Electronics are something we all haul back. On average, cameras, computers - all those kinds of things - cost an average of ten to twenty percent more. But before I can pick all that stuff up, I have to get there first.
Addison still can not swallow very well, so most of his food is blended goo of some form or another. He is also allergic to most food groups, especially grains, sugar, dairy, and so on. Liquids and gels are not permitted on flights over 3.3 ounces. Do you see the problem in this? I called the airlines to see if I would need special permission to bring on Addison’s food. When I finally found a human agent, she said I could bring as many 3.4 clear, ounce bottles of liquid I wanted. I hung up the phone and felt like I had been speaking in tongues. When I’m standing there at 6 a.m. in front of that conveyer belt and x-ray machine, the airline security guy/gal is going to let me pass with 20 bottles of liquid gels? I’m not taking any chances.
This is where that term “special” comes in with Addison. I fought it when I first settled into Down Syndrome , but now I have to admit we do need a word to communicate to security guards, educators, bus drivers, and others who don’t hang with Downs - or other kids with “special” needs that yes, we have these different needs that are out of the “normal” spectrum. My daughter will gleefully eat the disgusting ham sandwich we get on the plane for lunch, and I will be able to live on chips and a brownie. Addison, on the other hand, would choke if I gave him any of that. And if he did manage to eat it, he’d puff up like a porcupine under attack in a matter of a few hours.
Not trusting the airlines answer over the phone, I went directly to the Continental offices. Managers huddled and talked to other managers sitting somewhere in cubicles out of sight. I even brought a sample of the containers filled with Addison’s goo. The conclusion: They thought I’d be fine bringing the food on. The bottles of coconut water he likes to drink were another matter. A few scratched their heads.
Maybe you want to get a doctor’s letter about your son’s condition? Just in case.
So we’ve got a doctor’s appointment to get a letter in order to bring food on the airplane. This is what special is in the more literal sense: More time; more money; more running around. I’ll get the doctor’s note and all will be well. I’m ready to fight even the toughest, uptight, unsure, underpaid security worker out there. For I’ll be packing the best thing of all: my sense of humor. Like Twain said: The human race has one really effective weapon, and that is laughter. Now that’s special!
There is a phenomena in the central valley happening: these places that serve up an “all-inclusive” birthday party. Pirate places, gyms, and giant bouncy-slide barns can be rented for a child’s birthday. For three hours or so, children run around; squeal; jump; eat cake; and then break the pinata while parents nibble on tiny bocas and with any luck, a latte. This building is not that. When construction started, I was so sad. I mean what else could be a tin pink, blue, and yellow two-story structure?
A jazz club of course. To my relief, jazz plays now to the west side of San Jose. The Jazz Cafe has been known around Costa Rica for as long as I’ve been here for being one of the only consistent and quality jazz clubs. Now there’s two. Although I’ve yet to go inside, a few girlfriend’s are trying to convince me to head out and catch a show. Tell me who decided these things should start at 10 p.m.? Anyway….
The design, well all’s forgiven, for what’s inside this bright - let’s say interesting - design outshines anything kind of shell it’s wrapped in. (Stay posted if I figure out how to stay up past 8 and catch a show.)
*The new Jazz Cafe is in Escazu across from Multiplaza. It’s on the frontage road to get to Cima/Plaza Itzcazu. I mean you cannot miss it. Impossible.
Costa Rica put me on this one journey. When I moved here, I realized I was starting life over in so many way. Then, I had these two kids, one of the them with Down Syndrome.
Journey number 1
1). I had to learn a lot of life all over again.
2). I had to communicate in words I didn’t know.
3). I had to watch and assimilate.
4). Relax and give in to other’s way of doing things.
5). Step by step, I became acclimated to this new land.
Then, I had these two kids.
Journey number two.
1). I had to learn a lot of life all over again.
2). I had to communicate in words I didn’t know.
3). I had to watch and assimilate.
4). Relax and give in to other’s way of doing things.
5). Step by step, I became acclimated to this new land.
I know now that one does not have to travel to a new country to discover life or become enlightened. Probably the best place to do it is right in our own backyards. Yet, I do think there is a place for everyone, Costa Rica may be it for me (though I’m not ruling out that penthouse in New York yet!). Melody Beattie, a great writer helping us all to find a way home, grew up in my hometown in Minnesota. She knew she needed to move to California. She went on to write fourteen books and too many news and magazine articles to count. I see her books translated in Spanish and in the shelves here in Costa Rica.
Some of us do need a good bonk in the noggin’ to shake us up and finally move up a notch in our thinking. That was me. With all I know now, I would be content in Minnesota (though I’m still a little squimish about that snow thing). But I may have not known what I know if I didn’t know Costa Rica. I’m sure I’m loosing everyone here, but perhaps we can all get the point.
Dorothy was right: There’s no place like home. Home can change quite a bit. And if you seek that adventure that I did, know that life still has a way of rearing it’s wild head, even in paradise. Anyway….what to do I know?
One of my nannies is sick. Her glands, she tells me, are as big as the pots on her stove. After three days of the feeling horrible, the other nannies told her it was time to go and get an injection. A large part of the social system health care system is rooted in those injections. Everyone gets an injection. Swollen glands? Get a shot. Bad knee? Another shot. Headache? Stomach ache? Go to a clinic; wait in line; and have a needle stuck in the backside. You’re done. The funny thing is, in a few hours or maybe a day, people feel better. What are in those shots? I have no idea. And every time I ask the afflicted individual, they don’t know either.
The nanny finally hauled herself up a steep 1/2 mile hill and trudged to the clinic to get her injection. I talked to her last night over the phone, and she still sounded like she had little bags of sour cream lodged in her throat. This nanny hates to take pills. But there she is, loaded with pastillas and more injections. We’re hoping she’ll be back tomorrow.
I myself have become incredibly proficient with a needle. When my now-deceased mother-in-law moved in with us (oh what a book this will be!), a full-time nurse was out of the question when she fell and broke her hip six months after arriving. So, the doctor showed me how to shoot Gladys in the stomach. It takes a good pinch of the skin, and after a few days, she said she couldn’t even feel it when I shot her up.
In Costa Rica, you can go to a pharmacy and get just about any drug you want if you can pronounce the name. Of course you can’t get morphine or valium without a prescription, but more or less, most drugs you want are behind the thousands of pharmacies around almost every corner in every town. There’s a lot of benefit in this. For example, I asked the vet for an anti-venom in case of snake bites or toad poisoning for my dogs. I kept it on hand. And wouldn’t you know it? One night I went out to the patio where my dogs were hanging out and one of them was foaming at the mouth. The first sign of poisoning. My hands were shaking as I read the instructions and measured out that tiny little millimeter tube. I got a hold of the dogs back leg muscle and with one swift move (you’ve got to be swift with a foaming dog at hand), I had the medicine in and out. Since she was young, she survived. If I had taken her to the vet, she would have died.
I’ve gotten some clues as to what’s in those shots. One night at the emergency room, Addison got a shot of steroids because he wasn’t breathing. I could not believe the difference. In one day, he turned around 100%. I can see why people clammer to the clinics for those shots because people do feel better, for awhile. I think the clinics understand that when they have an individual in their hands, there’s a good chance the person won’t be able to afford or be willing to take the pills once they walk out the door. At least with a shot of steroids, quartisone, antibiotics, and even vitamin B, they’ve injected a chance the patient will at least have one good dose of the medicine.
It’s not something to take lightly.* Too many shots of a good thing can become a bad thing. Steroids will quit working after awhile. Anyone who’s done research about them will know that. But who’s got Internet in the campo? I’m not scared of a needle and actually prefer to treat as much as I can at home. And Costa Ricans do often avoid the pills. Many still believe in teas to relieve nervousness, and over the years, I’ve learned a lot about boiling certain kinds of leaves for stomach aches. This hole health thing is a guessing game. Overall the doctors really care about their patients here. It seems they have remained closer to the idea that they’re job is to help people and serve as a conduit for healing. I just received a phone number for a doctor that will make house calls in the middle of the night. Imagine that. What a shot of medicine that is!
*Now I do not keep a stash of drugs on hand. The only thing I have right now is an old dried up needle of tooth whitener. I don’t keep anything on hand unless I’ve seen it done by a professional first.
When I first arrived in Costa Rica, there weren’t that many American chains. One restaurant, on the east end of San Jose, was a fake TGIF. It was really hard to tell the difference. They had the old, wooden canoes on the wall and the red and white stripes. I went in to eat their once. After a few years, I heard that the restaurant got in trouble for using the TGIF name. Now the real thing arrived on the west end of town. I go there about once a year, when I need a place on the way home and reliable.
We were celebrating my daughter’s gym show performance - a culmination of six months of practices for an afternoon of exhibitions. Addison wanted nothing to do with the dinner. He was still pissed off from not being able to eat the little chocolate heart the attendant at the gym handed out for all the family members. It the exact size of his windpipe. He carried this grudge into TGIF and promptly whipped all the crayons and cute little coloring page on the floor. Coco managed to hold him still for a moment for a photo.
I had a bowl of soup. My nanny couldn’t believe a piece of fish was $8.00. She’d pay half that for double the serving in her town. Ah, but we were in the big city, with the lights, the traffic and the fancy restaurants. We escaped with a tab of about $20.00. I suppose that’s not bad. The food was nothing to write home about, but my daughter got to clink her glass of ice tea in a toast and relish in her job well done. I suppose we’ll end up here again in six months, as I admit a chain restaurant serves it’s purpose once a year. Maybe my son will walk right through the front doors and Coco will have mastered that front roll on the parallel beam. But I bet Addison will stay throw his crayons on the floor, and it won’t get any cheaper.
When the day starts, I know a lot of us wonder how we are going to get it all in. After too many activities and too many things to do and not enough time for myself, I got one more thing in by heading to the grocery store to get some essentials.
I wasn’t alone there. People crammed the check-out lane and scanned isle seven for the right pasta noodle. I guess this is a new wave of entertainment. I was a little disappointed when all the nice ladies that hand out samples of food and drinks were no where to be found. Those little cubes of food and tiny cups of juice can really jazz up a Saturday night at Auto Mercado.
I tipped the bag boy a hefty 500 colones (about a dollar), hoping it would make his night. The rain had let up and it was getting late - around 8 p.m.
We sure know how to party around here.
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?
I hate to admit it, but I am at McCafe again (just repeating the word gives me the shivers). It’s the only place with Internet close to my daughter’s gym class. I’ve still got one more meeting to go before the night is over. Did you ever have one of those days where EVERYTHING is scheduled on the same day? This morning the Internet was on for like….oh ten minutes. Rather than resort to cleaning my storage room, I went out for run. It was the only time for myself in a day of spinning events wrapped around the children.
Music presentation; gym class; birthday party; gym class; school meeting……..Oh the humanity! I even started out the day backwards and showered before I got all sweaty due to the running and high humidity. I think the nannies must thing I am a bit cuckoo at times. I mean imagine them as they watch me run around, carting kids as if I was mad, trying to get to it all on time as if I was Chicken Little in fear of the sky falling on my head. These ladies come not only from Costa Rica, but el campo. They take buses, and that alone makes what I do impossible. I can’t begin to imagine what it is like for mother’s with kids that have special needs in situations where they have to take the bus. My son is heavy, and the stroller is incredibly awkward. We’d stay home.
absorbing all this faux Italian atmosphere, and hoping the sky won’t fall on my head.
What was a lot of rain and inconvenience for a few of us has turned out to be disasterous for others. I’ve been without water and Internet, but I’m also not stuck between a washed out road and mudslide. I can get to the nearest coffee shop and sample the wonderful espresso while figuring out the technical aspects of this posting life.
