Bleach is the number one favorite cleaner in Costa Rica. I’m pretty sure I do not need to take a poll on this.

Bleach is used to:

• clean mold off sidewalks
• wash whites
• soak whites
• clean floors
• clean toilets
• clean showers
• wipe down counters
• and clean every other thing that needs wiping down in your home, garden, and garage

I’ve watched my Gringa friends try to gently urge their maids to lighten up on the use of bleach. My attempts of the years usually failed. I wouldn’t buy it for awhile and then like a force pulling over to the dark side, I’d find myself back in the detergent isle, scanning brands. If I bought a brand my maid didn’t like, we’d then have lengthy discussions on the different qualities of bleach and what wonders one brand can do compared to another.

Now that I don’t have a maid, I use no bleach for cleaning. I keep one bottle hidden deep behind the junk of the garage. I think it was a left-over from when I moved into my new home over a year ago. I now refill a bottle of this Ajax cleaner (long since emptied) with vinegar and baking soda with a few drops of tea tree oil or pine scent. Since floors have to be mopped down about once a day to keep the ant population at bay, we go through a lot. Vinegar! Baking soda! Even cheaper than bleach! And as my son scoots across the floor, I don’t worry that a toxic chemical is being absorbed into his skin.

I do see the appeal of bleach - it kills everything in it’s path. And since hot water isn’t available readily, it’s the disinfectant of choice. I’ve heard of maids even sneaking bleach into the house where it’s been forbidden

How does one translate: Go easy on the bleach?

The on-line translator says: fácil ir a la lejía

Here, since all bleach is known as blanquita - a brand name - I would say: Por favor, puede usar menus blanquita?

As long as bleach is in the house, I am not sure it’s possible to use less. The only solution may be to go cold turkey.

Shedding our cultural customs is like trying to leave behind a limb while it’s still attached. Firecrackers start going off in Costa Rica around Christmas time. I don’t get excited. Tell me about a well-basted turkey and pumpkin pie? Now we’re talking.

Since I don’t see the ads on television promoting the perfect holiday gathering, and my kids don’t make turkey crafts, the holiday wanes from my thoughts. And, I could probably skip the whole thing. Yet when a group of friends pool a few colones together to buy a turkey, I find myself mashing potatoes and looking forward to a holiday dinner.

Thanksgiving is a nice holiday since it’s about gratitude - one of my favorite subjects. And I like when kids get a chance to hang out while parents mill around and chat. That reminds of my home.

So, all over Costa Rica odds and ends of ex-pats try to duplicate a little bit of home by making stuffing and turkey and pumpkin pie. We’ve got to create a new network of aunts and uncles and cousins as we’re usually so far away from family.

And as our group sat around the table sharing the good things that happened over the year, it felt just like home. Plus, our turkey was probably the best I’d ever tasted! A welcome tradition!

I’m not sure why every time I head out to an art performance lately, it turns into a sketch of a Broadway musical comedy. Coco and I made it home after a morning of bird watching lessons out in the campo with just enough time to eat, play with Addy, change, grab the tickets, and zip downtown to find a parking spot close enough to the theater to get into our seats for a performance by the older ballerinas in her ballet school.

As I approached the entrance to the highway, it was closed. Boy, I thought traffic around the shopping center is getting unbearable. Christmas was going to be thick at the mall this year. I turned to go to the next exit. It was closed. A try at a third resulted in the same dead end. As I passed the police officer waving cars off the freeway, I asked him where could I get on the pista? He said the autopista was closed for thirty minutes. All traffic was to go through the “old road of Santa Ana” until it reopened. The “old road of Santa Ana” is a windy, congested, two lane street that once served as the main thoroughfare connecting the western suburbs of San Jose to el centro. Now it’s alternative route with lots of stop lights, no left turn lanes, and is lined with stores in what just a few years ago were empty lots.

I looked to the line of traffic and imagined sitting in my car, listening to Coco repeat “are we going to be late” every minute, and watching my gas tank empty, and decided it was better to head towards the highway entrance (back by the police officer I’d talked to), and hunker down and wait. From where I sat, I could see a line of cars all the way up the mountain. I’d heard rumors of the highway closing but never thought twice about it since I don’t go out all that much.

So we waited. I’d driven a mile backwards in thirty minutes. Ahead, a guy talking to an officer had gotten out of his car. He flashed his hands five and mouth cinco minutos. Sure enough. The officers pulled back the traffic cones and off we went. In fact, we made it down town with ten minutes to spare.

I took one of the first parking spots I could find because I was afraid all the close ones would be taken. We walked the two blocks and entered the Melico Salazar Theater. The lobby was open, but the doors were LOCKED! I looked around at the few people meandering and no one offered me any glimmer of hope. Then, I decided to look at the tickets. Yup. Wrong theater. I was at the wrong theater. They shoot horses don’t they?

I tucked the tickets back in my bag and told Coco it’s time to walk. Luckily, the National Theater was only two more blocks down the street. The guy with the stick watching my car seemed sober and stood upright, so I figured my car would still be there when I got back. Coco and I ran/trotted, stepping over homeless people on the sidewalk. We had five minutes until curtain call.

Coco wiggled back and forth in her seat the entire performance since she couldn’t see over the people’s head in front of her, and I sucked on small candies in hopes of not spinning into a coughing fit from a little tickle in my throat that’s been bothering me. I was happy the performance wasn’t too long as we still had to eat.

Coco and I ran/trotted back to the car, stepping over the same homeless people we’d passed just an hour and one-half ago. I tempted Coco with a pizza place. She held her nose and said the smell was going to make her vomit. Although I think it was the nearby open sewer hole, I wasn’t exactly sure, so we moved on.

Fried chicken?

She agreed to some nuggets. This would save me a half hour. We carried our food another two blocks to the car. The man was diligently waiting. I paid him his 2000 colones. The popcorn chicken was bearable and at least sustained life for another day. Coco ate every bite; studied for a test she had in the morning; and got ready for bed.

As I head to bed, I stopped to put Addison’s sock on. He slept without a sound - a blessing after a two week cold. My cough kicked up, and I gargled with salt water, which hurt my tongue due to the sores from sucking on cheap candy during the ballet.

The ballet is a gorgeous art form, demanding intense physical and mental preparation. I find it funny how tired I get just watching.

This morning my nanny told me that while she was showering the cold water went out, and she got quite a shock from a deluge of hot water. Every one’s had that happen: flush the toilet and stand back while the water readjusts. For some reason, it doesn’t happen as much here. Maybe it’s because my hot water tank runs out of water so fast, we’re usually using tepid water anyway.

The basics of plumping are the same here: water comes up a pipe; water goes down. However many households, especially older construction, have poor water pressure. Flushing toilets can be a delicate issue. A lot depends on the source water supply. If you have your own pump, you might have better pressure. Many homes have those plastic water tanks sitting in back yards as storage for the times the water is cut off or for during the dry season when we all tend to get trickles in the last few months.

Since venting is not needed for the septic pipes, bathrooms are easy to put in almost any corner of the house. PVC pipes are glued together in all sorts of L shapes and T shapes to pipe water in. You can also PVC piping running across the grass, eking out of the side of a dirt hill, and running down the length of a wall. Moreover, it doesn’t freeze here, so we don’t have to insulate pipes. I think perhaps the entire scope of the nature of physics may not be taken into account when many of the water lines are installed.*

I have this funky third floor bathroom that was installed next to the tiny maid’s room, which is now my office. To flush the toilet in this room is, well, not a pleasant experience. I turned the room into a place to store my suitcases (and that creepy reindeer mentioned below). Putting toilet paper, in any bathroom - old or new - in my opinion is a no no. Even the best hotels have a bucket next to the toilet to put used paper. I’ve gotten so used to this procedure, I become confused and out of sorts when I visit the States. And! The water faucets are all backwards: hot is where the cold is and cold is where the hot should be!**

The nanny went on about how hot the water was and Addison was glued to her as if she was one of those peppy singers on High Five. Then she told me that once a president of Costa Rica went to visit Europe some time ago. Since Ticos take cold showers, he got in the tub/shower thing they have over there and was scalded because he wasn’t expecting hot water. Poor guy, he had to probably go to a meeting with the president of France with salve all over his face.

I can relate though. Water issues are very confusing and can burn you in the end.

*This is the best photo I could come up with. It’s not exactly what the tanks look
like here, but mas o menus. I’ll get my crackpot photography staff on it.
Oh sorry, I think that’s cracker jack. 

**At least we don’t have those “shock showers!” That’s a whole ‘nother subject!

Another sign Christmas is just around the corner in Costa Rica is blond, miniature reindeer appear in the backs of trucks and along the roadside. Their splendor for sale to enhance the holiday experience.

These reindeer are made out of wood shavings glued over a cotton, or I don’t know, some sort of fabric base. I suppose it’s like the inside of a baseball or a stuffed bird in taxidermy. Then for a final touch, the entire body is wound up with fishing line.

My attempts to get to the bottom of this tradition have been fruitless. As far as I can guess, some guy one day had extra wood shavings and well….you can imagine the rest of the story.

I happen to have one of these beauties. We got it when Coco was one. It had a tail then and didn’t smell like it does now. The horns have frayed and over the years; Coco has added features like eyes and a bow. (We’ve long lost the tail.)

Every year I leave Chippy, or Woody, or Dasher, or whatever it is Coco’s named it, until the last thing to put out at Christmas. I actually leave it in the closet, hoping she’ll forget. But the kid’s got a memory like steal trap.

We don’t dare put it in the rain. Imagine the things that would grow inside. It already sheds, and I hate to think what we’re breathing in every year. It just has that kind of creepy look like it’s going to chew out the back of ankles when I’m not looking. I’m pretty sure Addison sides with me on this one. For Coco though, this little dear is just another sign of holiday bliss.

After all those big events in life: Graduation; marriage; babies; the purchase of your first sofa - ever wonder what’s next?

Instead of wandering around aimlessly, my friend and co-producer of SunStruck Radio decided to ask that very question.

Listen to our third broadcast of the soon-to-be award winning podcast (do they have awards for such things?)

What’s Next?

Anna Jordan interviews Fred Tank from Michigan while he visited Costa Rica about his next big transition: Retirement. The discussion is insightful and touching.

We also track down people and ask them what you always wanted to know:

If money, time, or anything else was a barrier, what would you do tomorrow. If only you could? The answers are exactly what you’d think they’d be and more.

Plus we have stories and a few other things to entertain you. So tune in, to shownumber three at SunStruck Radio won’t you? Or subscribe here. Paradise is waiting.

And of course a great round of applause for all of our original music provided by Toby Tune.

Since Costa Rica is not real big on celebrating Halloween and of course Thanksgiving is not a holiday here, so there’s nothing standing in the way of stores putting out Christmas stuff starting in October. I’ve even seen displays going up in September.

Huge inflatable Santas wobble in the wind in front of department stores while the inside is taken over by brilliant colored balls and ribbons and miniature houses that light up and mechanical snowmen that lurch back and forth between chuckles.

A few weeks ago, about mid October, I had to buy a present for a birthday party Addison was invited to. As I browsed through the isles and isles of well-marketed plastic toys, I realized I was singing Jingle Bells. I stopped myself and realized what I’d done. Now the tune would be in my head until December.

The Santa above I captured at EPA the big hardware store down the street. I was in search of gasket sealer for my espresso machine. Inside the store were those billions of balls and tiny houses that light up if the bulb doesn’t break on the way home. Coco and I ran for the sealer. She forced me to buy her a bag of M&Ms on the way with that little “I’m hungry whine and I think I might die…..”As I paid, I realized I wasn’t singing THAT song. I grabbed Coco by the wrist, and we ran faster than Dasher on Christmas Eve for the exit.

I spent a lot of time in parkas. And in those really chilly months of deep snow and freezing temperatures, I jammed my legs into ski pants and bundled from head to toe in scarfs, mittens, and sweaters inside that parka. As soon as we began spending more time indoors, we all got colds. When I moved to Costa Rica, colds - resfriados - colds came right along with us.*

Coco has a cough that won’t leave her five minutes of peace. Last night, she got up at one o’clock and searched me out with the flashlight. The cough woke her up. I applied a few things to her nose and throat and got her to sleep sitting up. Finally, she drifted off.

Addison’s eyes have been glued shut for the last two mornings. His cold has attacked his eyes, which makes it a less dramatic event and lessenes the stuffy nose, (which is reallly hard on him because of his smaller airways from the Down Syndrome).

The funny thing is the reasons we get colds seem to be the same whether we have snow or rain or wind; palm trees or oaks; tank tops or parkas:

“This time of year everyone gets a cold.”

“Oh, you’re all wet, now you’ll catch a cold.”

“All the kids in school have it.”

The cold virus knows no boundaries or limits. It crossed borders and cultures at ease, and in it’s own annoying way, makes me feel right at home.

*La gripe is often interchanged when someone has a cough or cold, but it actually means the flu.

A few nights ago, I went with a some friends to a place called, Big Mike’s. In the back streets of Escazu, that oh-so popular suburb of San José, we walked into a sparkly, romantic not-so-tiny hole in the wall that’s actually a house at the end of a cul-du-sac. The kind you come to love with twinkly Christmas lights that shine all-year-round.

Big Mike, Michael D. Forbes, was hosting an evening with Cate Montana. Cate was speaking on the topic of getting a better life. Heck, I’m in!

My friend and I were a bit hungry, so we sauntered over to our right and sat down in the cozy dining room. Big Mike greeted us and recommended the artichoke soup. “Fresh artichokes,” he told us. It didn’t take long to get the soup, and it didn’t take long for me to finish it. As a delightful bonus, he brought us a plate of grilled vegetables, which included roasted potatoes and carrots.

We toted the vegetable plate to a big room that seated about 50 people. Cate had worked on What the Bleep Do We Know and was speaking on that better life thing. According to her press release,

“Cate Montana is a writer and CEO of Global Intelligence Press, LLC. She is at the forefront of the information wave on quantum physics, consciousness and spirituality, working with such people as Deepak Chopra, Lynne McTaggart, (”The Intention Experiment”) and Gary Renard, (”Your Immortal Reality”.) She worked with the filmmakers of “What the Bleep Do We Know!?” for three years as editor and publisher of the film’s newsletter and as an international spokesperson for the film. A mainstream journalist for 20 years, she also has a MA in Humanistic Psychology. She is currently working with Bleep filmmaker Betsy Chasse on two movie projects, and is writing a book ‘The Power and Pitfalls of Personal Manifestation.’”

Cate was one in a series of speakers held at Big Mike’s called The Speaker’s Forum. Cate was witty and funny and full of insights. Though she’s worked in the field of consciousness awareness for many years, she confessed it was her first talk. We’d have never know. It was a delight.

Big Mike’s is a gather hub for the group of Gringos, like me, who want to read books, chat about movies, and dine on good food with good company. Big Mike and I had met one time, way back, when we both attended the premier of my friends Livia Linden and Percy Angress’s film: TropiX, a film made in Costa Rica. He said he appeared in the film about four times. With his adorable, gleaming face, and charming presence, I could see why.

Besides the restaurant and speakers, Big Mike’s caters, hosts other social events, offers a culinary school, and has rooms to rent. On top of that he seems to endlessly help other people out, including finding homes for dogs and cats.

It’s nice to know Big Mike is out there. When I feel like hearing a speaker, or renting a book, or munching on good food, or adopting a dog - wait forget that last one - I’m going to park at the end of the cul-du-sac and pay Big Mike a visit. I know I’m always welcome.

Coco was too scared on Halloween to be anything that might make her scared. Witches were out. Ghosts too. So, for the second year in a row it’s the cat. Which for a mother, is a good thing. All I have to do is find the stuff, and she’s set.

I decided Addy was going to be a panda, since he’s cute and cuddly anyway. The ears were simple - a nanny got on that. I painted the bunny tail from an earlier costume (thanks Christy - that tail just keeps on living!). We even managed to find the correct black and white combination for the torso and limbs. I got into trouble with the eyes and nose. My face pen ran out of ink from the last holiday. Addison was not pleased about me rubbing around his eye sockets. I guess I shouldn’t blame him. He didn’t ask for this panda stuff.

So Addison went a little light on the eyes, but overall the kids looked great. I think I could dress them up with unfolded laundry, and they’d still look great. Oh…I guess we already did that. Now there’s a costume idea for next year!